


Jack's Mountain Adventure

by FacesForHats



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Adventure, Bunnymund - Freeform, Gen, Horror, Jack Frost - Freeform, Jack gets into trouble, Monster - Freeform, Yeah there are a couple of monsters too, bunny - Freeform, mountain, naturally, uh there is some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FacesForHats/pseuds/FacesForHats
Summary: Jack Frost likes to play and travel around the world. Some might say that it's a dangerous pastime for an unsupervised teenager, but Jack is more than 250 years old; plus he's got awesome powers. So it's fine. Right?





	1. Mountain air is good for your health

Jack spent his evening lounged on a tree, watching the airplanes fly overhead. He was in a bad mood, but the passenger airliners were a new thing, and the concept fascinated him. He could watch them for hours. A few times he had tried to chase an airplane to look and wave at the passengers through the tiny windows, but the engine was always too loud and too warm and it turned the chase into an uncomfortable experience.

Staring at them from below was much more pleasant. He liked to daydream about the people inside the airplane; about where they were going, the things they planned to do. He imagined them going on vacation, to meet relatives, to return to their families. The thought of these people opening doors to find children running to hug them always made Jack smile, even if it stung a little.

This was why Jack was here right now. Sometimes, being invisible among people for too long became exhausting. It was OK as long as there were children around; they laughed and ran… and he laughed and ran among them, it was almost normal. But when the children got back to their homes and there was no one around to play with, cities and neighborhoods could become unbearable.

Jack would sometimes get away then. He would fly around, go to an empty, desolate place. He would play with the wind, scatter the leaves, race with animals, until his frenetic games got him lost around the world. Then he would come across a new city. New, unfamiliar faces, people who maybe had yet to experience how fun snow could be. He would perk up, bring another snow day, and the game would start anew.

Right now, Jack was emotionally exhausted. His chest and throat ached and he longed to take a break from the world. But the same thing that _would inevitably always happen_ happened again:

He became bored.

For how long could a person sit around and feel sorry for themselves anyway?

“Lets go, wind!” he said, getting up, a hint of a smile forming on his face as he thought of travelling to a mountain range. These were always fun. They had snow and ice and glaciers and deep frozen crevices; he would be at his element. There were majestic eagles to chase, deer and wild goats to spook into a frenzied dash and race. Mountains often had hikers and skiers running around that were easy to tease. Jack always felt an affinity with such people. He didn’t need to _offer_ winter fun to them, they choose it willingly. Even though they hadn’t seen him yet, Jack felt more welcome among them _._

His chest rising with elation, Jack took off at full speed. He soared to the sky like an airplane, stretching his arms wide and making plane noises.

“Vrrrrrr!!”

The clouds rushed past him and Jack reached clear blue sky. A flock of geese flew in the distance, momentarily distracting him from his plan. But, no, he had already decided to go to a mountain.

Last time he had done that, there had been a skier with the grace and speed of a swallow. Jack had been _impressed._ He had adjusted the gusts of wind so that his speed and jump height increased twofold. The skier had even ended up winning a race that Jack hadn’t realized was on.

This time he had a much better idea. He would create a ski slope all by himself, and push unsuspecting skiers in with wind and ice. It would be so much fun! There would be the toughest turns and steepest slopes, and probably he wouldn’t even cause an avalanche.

Jack snickered as he remembered that one time he was racing against an unsuspecting skier and accidentally triggered an avalanche. Well, it wasn’t his fault, not really. The skier screamed so much as the ground flew beneath her feet, Jack was pretty sure the yells were what had caused the built-up snow to collapse. Alright, so _maybe_ the woman was screaming because he had set her off the beaten track, so _maybe_ it was also his fault, sorta… But he had made sure everything ended well! He had guided her along the whole way and they out-skied the avalanche, like he had seen surfers out-surf giant waves in the ocean. It was _awesome._ And when it was all over, the skier was giggling so hysterically Jack felt proud. Adults were much more difficult to reach out to in comparison with kids.

He flew past the coast and started to cross the ocean. He flew so low that he could dip his hand in the water, leaving a thin trail of ice that dissolved immediately the moment a waved crashed on it.

Jack looked for the biggest waves and made a game of evading them the last moment. Several times he failed and crashed head-first into one, turning it immediately into a pyramid of ice and bumping his head painfully on it. Even when he fell flat on his stomach as a result, the sea beneath him froze. He took off and the process repeated itself.

It was a few hours later when a huge mountain range came into view. Jack zoomed towards it happily.

He could see crevices and peaks glittering with snow and oh-oh-oh was that a glacier? Glaciers were basically non-stop slides for him, he would achieve maximum speed skating on those. He should lure a couple of skiers on one, that would be good for a laugh.

A small village nestled within a snowed valley greeted him, stone and wooden houses emitting thin plumes of smoke, people milling around, talking, shouting, kids playing.

Jack set off to “work”.

His first “job” was to throw a snowball straight at the elaborate hairdo of a rich lady. She screamed at first, then a few snowflakes fluttered to her nose and she started giggling and chasing her child around instead.

He proceeded to burst the pipes of the village fountain, freeze a creek into solid ice, and trick the school teachers into fighting each other with snowballs.

Jack had stopped his games, distracted by a teenager who was set to create the biggest snowman ever, when he noticed that the opposite slope was speckled with tiny dark dots that slid downwards effortlessly.

The snow sprite grinned slowly, narrowing his eyes.

Skiers.

…Although “unsuspecting victims” was a far more accurate description.

Jack flew towards them in a gust of wind so powerful that it toppled the gigantic snowman on the teenager.

A minute later he was landing next to a group of beginners: three men and one woman who wobbled uncertainly on their skis and advanced on the mild slope with a speed similar to that of a really determined turtle.

“Here, let me lend you a hand,” Jack said helpfully as he created a path of pure ice in front of them and gave them a friendly push with the wind…

…straight out of the ski trail and into the steep slope punctuated by trees.

Jack chuckled as they started screaming behind him. He led the trail around trees, up to fly from a rock, into crazy turns and even steeper paths. He narrowly avoided slamming himself (and subsequently the skiers) into a tree trunk and led them towards a more open space. Seconds later he noticed a crevice splitting their path in two; it was more than three meters wide and must have been very deep.

Jack’s smile grew while the skiers’ screams intensified as they too noticed the gigantic fissure but were unable to stop.

He had this under control.

With a deft maneuver he adjusted the end of the trail so it shot just a bit _up–_

–and then simply backed away and watched as the skiers flew high over the crevice, crossed it safely and landed a good ten meters away from the edge, falling face-first into the snow.

Jack was laughing so much he had trouble keeping himself airborne, as the skiers stumbled into sitting positions, spitting out snow. They started to yell triumphantly and flap their arms around in over-excitement.

Boy, the reactions of the adults were always hilarious, although he much preferred playing with children. Children screamed less and laughed more.

The next moment a horrifying bellow resonated from the deeps of the crevice. Jack’s smile slid of his face as the earth started to shake in accordance with a loud thumping that became progressively louder.


	2. Snowball test

Jack watched the crevice nervously. He had no idea what sort of creature dwelled there. His relationship with other spirits was… bumpy, at best. There were some that were ok, like the Guardians. The Sandman, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and North at least supposedly liked people, and while they weren’t particularly _nice_ , they certainly weren’t nasty either. Jack had brought ice and snow in many of the Easter Bunny’s egg hunts, and all the guy had done was to jump up and down angrily and sprout nonsense threats at him.

Other spirits were outright ridiculous, like the Boogeyman. Jack had spotted him once through a child’s window: a dark hand coming out from beneath the bed. It must have been pretty scary for the child on the bed, but for an external observer, it was plain silly. Jack could see it was all show and drama. The hand moved left and right, grabbing at stuff randomly and bumping into the furniture in a dramatic manner, without trying to actually reach _up_ and grab the child. The boogeyman’s reaction when a parent entered the room with a candle was priceless: he shrieked like a little girl and disappeared under the bed. Jack even thought he heard an “ouch” when the parent checked beneath the bed with the candle. Jack spent a good five minutes laughing afterwards. What was the point of _that_ act and why would _anyone_ get obsessed over it? At least his own talent included creating beautiful patterns and encouraging people to have fun. And hardly anyone ever got hurt, even!

However, there were spirits with a much nastier character than the Boogeyman with his weird obsessions and poor social skills. There were nature spirits that pursued a single goal with mindless persistence.  There were cursed beings that destroyed anything in their path. There were weird, unnatural creatures from ages past still hiding in the holes of the earth.

Jack had seen it all. He had been threatened and attacked by lake spirits for making it snow in the wrong time and place. He had been thrown around like a rag doll when he got caught by mistake in the path of the Tornado Twins, no matter how much he pleaded to be let go, and had no idea how he would have ended up if he hadn’t managed to hold on to his staff. He had been unlucky enough to meet a wooden giant with huge teeth inside a deep jungle that had much enjoyed toying with Jack and made it its short term goal to eat him. And he would never, _ever_ , go near a volcano again, after seeing the _thing_ that dwelled inside a crater a few years ago.

…Well, “never” was a funny concept. Maybe he could make it a game of going in and out fast enough…

The ground rumbled visibly, and an unearthly grunt resonated in the valley.

Jack gulped and tightened his staff. He flew a little bit higher and hid behind a couple of trees, just in case whatever was in that crevice popped its head out, saw no one and decided to go back to napping.

Jack could see pebbles hopping on the ground and snow flaking off and dropping inside the hole as a result of the incessant trembling. The skiers had paused and looked around, frowning.

“Run away…” Jack whispered. “It’s an avalanche, it’s an earthquake, run away…”

The tips of the nearby trees shook as something grey started to emerge from the crevice.

Jack’s breath caught as he saw a gigantic stone head, half-covered in moss and grazes, rise from the rift. Two pale grey eyes, the colour of dirty snow, stared coldly at the scenery while a half-gaping mouth with way too many transparent teeth hissed and growled.

Two stony hands, each as large as Jack’s torso gripped the tip of the crevice and pulled the creature up. It rose tall as a tree, and wide as a car. The stone troll towered in the landscape, its gaze scanning its surroundings for the offenders.

Jack’s heart fluttered painfully in his chest as he realized that the skiers were looking around, seeing and hearing the troll’s effects on their surroundings, but unable to see the troll itself.

In the next moment, the troll slowly turned towards the group of nervous people standing a few meters away, the earth rumbling with each of its steps.

The skiers huddled together, staring horrified at the trees shaking from tip to root.

“ _I said it’s an earthquake, GO!”_ Jack screamed at the top of his voice, shooting up from behind the tree and calling upon the fiercest snowstorm he could.

The skiers gasped at the sudden onset of snow and freezing wind but at least it seemed to break them out of their reverie. They started to ski away at top-speed, thankfully hiding amongst the curtain of snow.

Jack hardly had time to sigh in relief as the tree nearest to him began to shake violently.

The skiers might not have been able to see or hear him, but the troll could certainly do both. And he had successfully caught its attention.

The tree was torn from its roots with a horrifying _crack_. Jack stared openmouthed as the gigantic creature lifted the huge plant like a club and _swung_ at him.

Roughly two hundred years of flying experience were the only reason Jack was able to dodge that swing. Even so, the rush of air that followed the massive movement was so intense it broke his own wind and he almost fell.

Terrified, he floated backwards; his back hit a tree and he tumbled to the ground.

Jack gasped, trying to get his bearings, as the troll stomped towards him, everything on the ground (including Jack) jumping up and down by the force of its footsteps.

He caught a glimpse of the troll approaching in between a couple of trees and promptly soared up in the air, avoiding all the branches and keeping a sufficient distance from the creature and its monstrous club.

“OK Jack, calm down,” he scolded himself. “You’ve faced a lot worse things than sentient boulders. This should be easy.” He floated backwards and up as the troll attempted another swing at him. He was now well out of its reach but didn’t want to risk flying away completely: the troll was angry and it might turn its attention towards the skiers again, who couldn’t have gone very far yet. Jack knew they would be ok once they reached civilization; nature spirits were in general reluctant to go towards large groups of people. He just had to keep it occupied for a few hours.

The troll roared, a sound like the earth itself was groaning, and swung at him again. Its path was blocked by trees, but it pushed them and they dropped like pins. Jack gulped. There was no stopping this creature.

Well, unless he tricked it into falling into a bigger, deeper crevice, maybe… Not that he had time to fly off and look for one, though.

Jack’s eyes widened at the troll changed its pose, setting the tree on its shoulder like a javelin–

And _threw it_ straight at him.

He managed to dodge at the last moment. A small branch whipped his torso, causing him to rotate on the spot.

“Whoa!”

Jack caught a glimpse of the tree landing _hundreds_ of meters away.

“Great, I hope no one saw _that,”_ he joked, “I’m pretty sure I would get in trouble for it but _still_ not get any believers… Uh-oh.” The troll was trying to uproot another tree. “OK, that’s enough big guy.” Jack flew around the troll so that it didn’t have time to aim. “You’re too big a guy to be throwing such tantrums… What would your mum say? ARGH!”

The troll had thrown a tree at him once again, this time with less grace and more force. Jack barely managed to avoid getting a face full of gnarled roots.

“That was close! Why so angry? You won’t get many friends with that attitude, you know!”

Another tree was being uprooted.

“OK, you can stop that now,” Jack said nervously, flying a bit closer despite his instinct screaming at him to fly away. He desperately needed to calm down the troll. “You can’t keep destroying all these trees, what will people — _whoa_ , that was a good one— what w-will they think? And, and what do you have against trees anyway? I thought they might be like pets for you. Or maybe they are like lice, growing on top of you and all– _HEY!”_

The latest uprooted tree was swung at him again, and the force of the swing caused a gust of wind that threw him a dozen meters away.

Jack panted, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t tired, but the severity of the situation and the fact that he wouldn’t find relief any time soon made him very nervous. The troll, on the other hand, didn’t look like it would lose interest any time soon. If anything, it pursued him with more vigor.

“Uh-oh, this is a fine mess I have gotten myself into this time,” he joked, trying to control his shaking. All the other times he had gotten into trouble he was at least able to fly away first chance he got.

Another tree almost-to-the-face.

“Ooh, very close! I’ll give you an eight.”

A giant fist made a grab at him as he flew behind the creature.

“Too slow! Six, and I’m being generous.”

Two stone palms slammed against each other only a couple of inches away, as if they were swatting a fly.

The close call made Jack flinch, but the fact that he _had_ survived gave him courage. “Seven points for the effort and minus two for style. I am not an insect, you know.”

Turning it into a game allowed Jack to keep it up without getting tired. The sun was beginning to lower towards the horizon, the surrounding area had turned into a bombed landscape, and Jack was still zooming around the troll effortlessly.

“Not bad! I’m sure you would win in any tree-throwing competition for ugly trolls.”

“You call that a swing? My grandma can do it better than you. If, you know, I had a grandma.”

“Maybe there’s a girl around, is that why you’re so persistent? Are you putting a good show for her? _Oof!_ Should I pretend to get hit so her eyes turn all gooey and stuff? What does a girl troll look like anyway? Same only with batting eye-lashes or something? Or, _wait._ Are _you_ a girl?”

The troll threw him a tree with twice the usual force.

“Hey!” Jack chuckled. “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? Come on man — _wayyy_ too close— calm down, will ya? I need to know you’ll go back to your beauty sleep before I leave.”

Despite the situation, Jack got a bit hopeful. If the creature was sentient, maybe his snowballs would work on it and it would _actually_ turn playful.

Jack Frost’s snowballs didn’t work on everyone. There had to be a certain _something_ about them. An ounce of goodwill. A secret desire for things to turn simpler and more fun.

Some spirits were as affected by Jack’s snowballs as people were. Some others… _weren’t._ Jack had his hopes up that stone trolls would belong to the former category.

“Snowball to your face, coming up! Don’t fret, you’re such a huge target I’d be blind to miss–”

One of Jack Frost’s special snowballs flew in a magnificent arc and landed square on the troll’s stony face.

Jack held his breath as the creature stopped moving, as if incredulous that the pesky thing it was trying to swat had _hit back._

The tree it had been brandishing in mid-swing was dropped to the ground with a mighty thump.

Jack’s face light up with a brilliant smile. Oh boy, a snowball fight with a stone troll coming up! The big guy had a great aim, and Jack had a feeling its “snowballs” would be the size of motorcycles. This was going to be epic.

Jack flitted right and left in expectation as the troll bent down and grabbed a huge chunk of snowed earth with its gigantic fist.

The sound that accompanied the motion wasn’t the familiar soft crunching of snow. Ιt sounded more like ripping the core out of the earth itself.

Jack had only a moment for the smile to slide out of his face before a large rock was shot at him like a bullet. It hit him square in the chest and sent him reeling backwards until he fell hard to the ground. It was a miracle that he managed to hold on to his staff.

Jack was losing precious time trying to breathe and get his bearings and regain altitude; he could hear the troll coming back at him _at full speed._ He crashed into tree trunks a couple of times  before he managed to get higher than the tree tops, only to be faced with two more chunks of rock shot at him.

He dodged the first but the second hit his leg. Jack yelled in pain. The staff slipped from his grasp and he fell to the ground again.

Jack rolled instinctively away, grabbing his staff in the process, as the trembling of the earth became more intense. The place he was in a second ago was stomped by a foot the size of a desk.

Jack jumped and flew straight between the creature’s legs and away.

OK, this was enough. This was getting too much. No more tossing snowballs at spirits. The skiers must have reached safety by now anyway.

A whistling noise was his only warning. He careened to the right and dodged by a hair’s breadth a rock that would have smashed into the back of his head otherwise.

“Please stop!” Jack begged, gaining more altitude. On the ground below, the troll was running at full speed, chasing him, reducing anything it came across during the process into splinters.

The winter spirit flew higher and higher, but the rock bullets kept on coming. They were much more compact than the trees the troll had previously used as javelins, and they were thrown with a lot more speed and accuracy. No matter how far away and high Jack went, the troll was always below, still shooting stones at him. Every once in a while, one would hit him, and he would find himself dazed and falling before he managed to catch himself. The fluttering snow, appearing as a reaction to his distress, only served to further make him lose his sense of direction every time he dropped.

The chase was relentless.

He tried to fly up, up in the air, as high as possible, deep inside the clouds and the raging blizzard, his heart drumming painfully in his chest. He didn’t know nor care about where he was going, as long as it was as far as possible from the ground. His frantic mind was dominated by a single desperate thought:

_Hide. Hide in the clouds, as far away and as high as possible._

Suddenly he was surrounded by endless grey, snow, and wind; yet Jack did not pause. He flew on as fast as he could. Panicked images of the troll tracking him from beneath, following the trail of snowfall, crossed his mind and he sped up even more.

A tiny voice in the back of his head was trying to tell him to calm down, that he was safe hidden up here for now, that he could pause and take deep breaths; but Jack didn’t have the presence of mind to listen to it. He was lost in the manic flurry of snow and the roar of the wind and he desperately wished to be far, far away, in a safe and quiet place where he could lie down and gaze at the moon, but at the moment that scenario seemed as unattainable as the moon itself.

The very air seemed to shake with the force of the storm, and the roar of the wind had turned outright deafening.

Jack saw something large and solid rush towards him, red and green lights shining through the snowflakes. The next moment, he collided head-on in the harshest impact he had ever experienced.


	3. Flight achievement unlocked

He could tell he was falling.

He could tell his whole body hurt like it had never hurt before.

He could tell both of his hands were empty.

His mind was blank. He felt like he should react somehow to this situation, but was unable to.

It was a while before the hollow ringing in his head was slowly replaced by the howling of the wind.

And then he crashed again at full force.

This time, he bounced several times on harsh surfaces before he came into a stop.

For a long while, he couldn’t move nor breathe. It hurt too much. It hurt so much, he thought he would pass out; maybe he had _already_ passed out– it was impossible to tell.

Then, finally, Jack managed to gasp for a single breath. He could still not move nor open his eyes, and he had no desire to do so. He just wanted to sleep. Pass out. Be in a coma. Whatever. Anything other than the unbearable weight and pain he felt crushing him from head to toe. He had no idea what was happening and didn’t care to find out. He could feel the wind moving around him but in his current state, even the gentlest breeze was like sandpaper on his skin.

Jack managed a groan and tried to move to a more comfortable position, unsuccessfully.

Well, on the bright side, he wasn’t dead. Death couldn’t hurt that much.

The troll.

Jack’s eyes snapped open.

His breaths came in terrified gasps as he tried to discern his surroundings.

He could dimly see the bare ground he was laying on. Above, the storm still raged on, snowflakes fluttering all around him, betraying his position. The wind roared and lightning flashed and the ground shook and rumbled and _oh God they were heavy footsteps._

Jack tried to raise himself in a sitting position but his stomach and chest hurt so much they would not support his weight. His hands searched madly for his staff; in vain.

He managed to partially sit up and looked around frantically: there were jumbled and harsh bare rocks, jagged mountaintops illuminated momentarily in the lightning. No sign of his staff.

The snow was slowly covering the ground, methodically burying everything from view.

Jack went into a complete panic; he had to find his staff, and find it _now._ He tried once more to get up, and although this time he succeeded in standing up, the ground rushed up to meet his face the moment he tried to take a single step forward. The earth was swimming up and down like the waves of the sea; the troll was approaching _and he didn’t have his staff._

Jack couldn’t even scream when something squeezed his right arm, pain flourishing. He tried pathetically to squirm away but whatever held him was unmoving.

“What are you?” rasped a voice above his head. He cringed, wincing in the pain, hardly daring to look up. There was non-stop lightning, there was–

…There was a person leaning over him, shinning a lamp at his face. He thought he could discern a human face staring at him, although he didn’t trust his eyesight completely.

“A t-troll,” he gasped painfully, still cringing away from the stranger. “A t-tr–, we–”

The voice chuckled. “You are no troll, silly goose. What happened to you?”

“There’s a troll c-coming,” he managed to say between aching breaths. “I, we n-need to h-hide.”

The figure —Jack could tell it looked like an old woman by now— moved the lamp away from his face and stared around. Jack held his breath as they both tried to peer through the snow and into the surrounding night. He shook from head to toe, staring around wildly, but could not discern the familiar horrifying figure lumbering towards them. The thundering rumble started to sound less like footsteps and more like, well, thunder.

The old lady turned towards him calmly, apparently appeased, but Jack was far from satisfied. He knew it was only a matter of time before the troll arrived, and he needed to find his staff. He tried to climb to his feet again, but the old lady held him down in a vice grip.

“We n-need to g-get away,” he stuttered, struggling weakly.

The lady chuckled again. “Calm down, my goose, no one else is here. You’re hurt. The troll did this to you?”

Jack shook his head weakly. He remembered… falling.

He had… crashed against something up in the clouds.

His next words were slightly calmer as realization hit him. “I, I hit a plane…” he whispered. Despite himself, he was a bit impressed. The possibility of colliding with an airplane mid-air had never occurred to him before.

“You hit a plane,” the woman repeated, incredulous. She brought the lamp closer to his face, peering at him from a few centimeters away.

Jack turned his face away from the light; it was too painful for his eyes in his current state, and the image of the old woman felt nightmarish —sunken eyes with tiny calculating pupils, cheeks hollowed by hunger, stretched skin practically sticking to the bone, wrinkles forming something between a frown and a sneer, a half-open mouth with several crooked yellow teeth protruding from dark gums, oily hair only partially covering her scalp—

The bony, blotched hand squeezing his arm shook him a little. “…You can fly, can’t you?” Without expecting an answer, she started to look around again.

Jack attempted to get up once more and this time she helped him up, steading him. “My– my staff,” he gasped, desperate. “I d-dropped it… I… need to g-get…”

“Don’t be silly, my goose,” she cooed as she started to pull him up the slope. “The troll is coming; we must hide. I know a safe place.”

“I n-need my staff,” Jack insisted, stumbling after her. How could he make her understand? Risking losing his staff was simply not an option. He was _nothing_ without it. “I can’t l-lose it… I-It’s a crooked–”

“We’ll look for it tomorrow,” the old woman replied, leading him slowly but inexorably away from his crashing spot. Jack’s eyes widened and he started to struggle in earnest.

“N-no! _Let me go!_ I need it!” he said, trying furiously to pry her fingers off his arm. He didn’t care about the troll, he didn’t care about her leaving him behind; he much preferred having his staff and facing whatever came at him than hiding somewhere without it.

The woman’s disturbingly bony fingers were squeezing deep into his flesh, unyielding, as if intent to crush his bones to dust and cut all circulation. It _hurt,_ and he–

–he couldn’t get free.

She was much stronger than he was, and he was weakened and dazed by the crash. He attempted to freeze her hand, but without his staff he couldn’t achieve much.

“Quit struggling, Jack,” the old woman scolded him. “You are badly hurt. Your staff can wait until tomorrow. No one lives here; no animals, no people. No one will touch it. _I’ll help you look for it tomorrow,_ ” she assured him when he tried to push away from her for the tenth time.

“Let me go!”

“Quit struggling, you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

 _“Please let me go!_ ”

It was in vain.

Jack started to panic in earnest. She was dragging him away and there was nothing he could do, there was no one who would help him. He didn’t trust this woman; she knew him, she knew he _needed_ his staff, he had explained and struggled and begged and she had ignored him. Jack was growing desperate.

He dug his heels on the snowy ground, but that actually made him slide alongside her more easily. He kicked and pushed at her, all the while struggling to make only the minimum amount of sound, afraid of attracting the troll to them.

She was unfazed. If anything, she dragged him up the slope with more vigor, her nails digging painfully into his arm, while he felt more and more drained. He tried to crouch to pick a rock, but they were moving too fast and his movements were sluggish and he didn’t manage to grasp any. Jack considered starting to thrash around, but he suspected that the odds of that succeeding would be very low.

Jack changed tactics.

He flopped bonelessly on the snow and stopped moving. The old lady paused momentarily before slinging his arm over her shoulder and practically carrying him up the slope.

Jack actually felt relieved. Yeah, her hands were squeezing his wrist and waist painfully, he could practically feel long nails digging in, but at least he was conserving energy… He was _so_ _tired_ … And it still hurt all over. He would try to escape the moment she loosened her grip.

The ground was properly covered with snow by now, and she left long, deep footsteps on the white surface, while his own feet barely unsettled it. Thankfully, without his staff the snowfall was ceasing. He needed the footsteps to remain uncovered by new snow so he could track the way back to his crashing spot.

Jack couldn’t tell for how long they were travelling; it could have been thirty minutes or a couple of hours. His head was pounding painfully during the whole time and it felt so heavy Jack had trouble focusing on what was going on. Eventually, he heard the creak of a wooden door opening, and the snow covered ground was replaced with smooth stone. The howl of the wind died out as the door closed behind them.

The woman walked on and promptly deposited him on what felt like a low armchair. She leaned uncomfortably close, peering into his face with the lamp. Jack did his best to keep his expression blank and his stare vacant.

Apparently satisfied, the woman turned away and placed the lamp on a wooden counter.

Jack took the chance to examine his surroundings for a moment.

They were apparently in some sort of cave. He could feel weak heat on the back of his neck; there was probably a barely burning hearth right behind him. A table with a single stool was at the centre of the room, while a straw-covered hammock was hanging from the wall on the one side of the door. There was a ray of wooden counters in front of the other wall…

…on which an impressive and terrifying set of knives was laid out. Crap.

Jack started shaking despite himself. What had he gotten himself into this time? What sort of spirit or creature was she?

She was fumbling with a drawer. There was no time. And there was no way his feet would carry him out of the door fast enough.

Jack’s right hand, which had been dragging lifelessly to the floor, reached towards the hearth and started to look blindly for a weapon. A fireplace poker. Burning coal. Ash. _Anything_ would do. Burns would heal. He would have _one_ chance.

The old woman managed to open the drawer and took out a glass bottle containing a dark substance. She picked up a dirty rag with her free hand.

Jack’s blind, silent search became more frantic. His fingertips grazed something burning hot.

He ignored all instinct and closed his fingers around it, biting his lip to keep himself silent. He couldn’t suppress a small groan.

The stuff hissed and crumbled at his touch. It was either firewood remains or ash. It would do. It would buy him a moment.

Jack held the searing substance in his fist and let his arm flop downwards tonelessly as the woman turned towards him with a pile of rags and a bucket of water.

This was it. He’d have to make it.

No one would help him if he failed.

The woman dragged the stool closer to him and sat down. Jack’s painful grip on the smoldering substance tightened. One–

She pulled his shirt up a little bit. The simple movement of the cloth sent spasms of pain across his stomach but he held on to his pathetic weapon fast.

Two–

“That airplane really did a number on you,” she chuckled, staring at the bared skin. “It beat you into a pulp!”

Three–

“But I got this healing blend Jackie boy, don’t you worry. It can close wounds and restore skin like you wouldn’t believe.”

The burning smithereens fell soundlessly from Jack’s slackening fingers to the floor.


	4. Quack

Someone was looking after him.

_Someone was taking care of him._

Jack couldn’t believe it. It had been the shock of the realization alone that made him drop his impromptu weapon; it was a good thing too, otherwise he would surely have reacted violently to the touches.

The old lady had partially lifted his shirt and was spreading the dark blend in the places that hurt the most. Biting pain and weak spasms he was unable rein in followed even the lightest brushes against his bruised skin.

Yet as the dark blend settled at the wake of those bony fingers, aching he hadn’t noticed was there started to melt away.

 _…She was taking care of him._ She was _helping_ him.

Jack couldn’t do anything more than to stare at her in disbelief, mouth hanging open.

She picked dirt and twigs from his clothes and pulled at tiny stones lodged in his skin. She tossed the snow out of his hair. She bandaged his right arm; he hadn’t even realized it was bleeding. A gauze was placed against another spot in his waist.

It was when she started to wipe his face with a wet rag that he finally came to life.

“…What are you doing…?” he asked weakly, leaning slightly away. He still didn’t think he should trust her completely, but at this point he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get away from her if his life depended on it.

 _She was taking care of him._  He was sitting in an armchair in front of a fire, and another person was taking care of him. Like the children and their families he spied through frosted windows. It was–

It was impossible to resist.

Jack never relied on other spirits. Experience had taught him to be wary and not expect much. He kept himself away from those who were overly eager to draw him close. When he got into trouble he got himself out as well.

But this– this was too much. It was too late. He was too tired and too hurt and– He just– he just couldn’t find the will to get away. He wanted– he  _needed_  more.

Oh boy, he hadn’t realized how much he needed a gentle touch on his face. Pent-up pressure started to ooze out and he gasped a breath that sounded too much like a sob.

The old woman was cackling. “What am I doing? What do you  _think_  I’m doing? I’m cleaning you up. Jackie boy, you must have hit your head pretty hard. I can feel a few bumps,” she said as she ran her fingers through his hair.

It left traces of pain yet Jack unconsciously leaned into the touch.

“…How do you know me?” he whispered.

The woman smiled wide and Jack shuddered. In the light of the fire, her face seemed less gaunt, less starving, but her mouth was just as terrible as before. “Everyone knows you, my goose. There aren’t many homeless flying boys with hair white as snow and an affinity for getting in trouble, you know.”

Something stung in that sentence but Jack was unable to pinpoint it. He was too tired to think properly.

“Bit a bit more than you could chew with that troll, eh?” she went on. “Don’t worry, you can stay here with me.”

“…I need to leave,” he interjected, although he knew that if she disagreed he wouldn’t have the strength to insist.

“Later. When you get better. You have broken half your ribs and cracked your head. You need to rest.”

“…I want my staff…” Jack repeated in a last half-hearted attempt.

“We’ll go get it tomorrow,” she assured him again. “You’re safe here. Don’t worry. You  _don’t_  need it.” She smiled and Jack shuddered from head to toe.

“You must be cold,” the old woman observed and stood up to throw more wood in the fire. Jack whispered unheard protests but he could soon feel the heat burning more intensely on the back of his neck.

The woman returned to sit by his side. “There, this is better my goose, isn’t it?”

Jack hardly had the strength to shake his head. The heat was making him drowsy. Coupled with the exhaustion of the pursuit and the pain of colliding against a plane, Jack suspected he would lose the battle with consciousness very soon.

“You didn’t tell me how you came across a troll.” The old woman’s voice reached him as if from very far away.

His response was slurred. “…Woke it… during… ski…”

“Aw Jackie boy, you have to be more careful. You don’t know what sort of spirit you might come across in your games,” she snickered. Jack jerked at the pain of fingernails digging into his skin again, but a hand stroking his forehead soothed him.

 

_And how did you hit the plane?_

 

Did she ask that? Or was he imagining things? He couldn’t see anything. Were his eyes closed?

Jack started to whisper a reply just in case, but no voice came out of his lips.

 

 

His left arm was bent in a strange angle. He could feel it ache and go numb… Jack tried to change position but couldn’t really find a comfortable one. He had fallen asleep on a tree branch again; he could feel it rocking in the wind.

There was a soft song in his ear, like a lullaby. Something soft wrapped tight all around him, like a blanket.

A very beautiful dream.

Jack smiled.

 

 

 

A soothing voice and a warm hand caressing his forehead. He wanted to lean into the touch, but was in such deep sleep that he barely had enough self-control to turn his head.

 

 

 

 

Jack kept trying to relieve his left arm whenever he roused a bit, but after a while, he found that he could not move at all. A bone-deep weakness had consumed him and turned his limbs to lead. Even opening his eyes took a lot more effort than he would expect, and the sight that greeted him was foggy, the shapes indiscernible. Keeping his eyes open was exhausting.

He just relaxed and let himself fall asleep again.

 

 

 

 

 

Jack couldn’t move even when warm, dripping wet fingernails sank deep. Clenching. Pulling. _It hurt_ , his right arm _hurt_ but it was stretched taut and impossible to stir.

He could only sob weakly at the pain and noises; (just a bad dream, just a bad dream) although, eventually, his breaths became too shallow and he wasn’t able to make any more sounds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And after a while, he couldn’t feel anything at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this should be rated M. Is it too graphic?


	5. Detective Carrots

It had been a dull, unpleasant winter, and Bunnymund was glad it was finally over. It hadn’t been so much of a _harsh_ one —although there _had_ been several harsh days when cruel hail whipped about the countryside and laid waste to cities, black frost burning the crops— nor, thankfully, a prolonged one —on the contrary, it had melted dutifully away as spring bloomed triumphantly at Bunny’s steps— but it was, nonetheless, an unpleasant one. Bunny didn’t go to the surface much, as there wasn’t really a need for him to do so, yet from what he could glean the days had either been biting cold, the frost attacking everything with vicious vindictiveness, or dull and uncaring, the temperature too low for plants to grow but not low enough to replace the dirty slush in the streets with anything more pretty or fun.

Bunny could only feel relief when spring overtook without a hitch. The flowers that bloomed early, poking timidly through the snow, remained gloriously undisturbed. Previously frozen creeks now flowed gently with freshly melted water, the slowly waking earth drinking in relief.

And his egg hunts had a nearly 100% success rate.

Apart from a couple of cases where the weather was too warm and another where a freak sandstorm dirtied the googies, the children had a great time and found almost all of the hidden treats.

Green was springing everywhere: new leaves on trees, lush grass on hills, gleaming moss on every rock and stone. Pavements, parks and every inch of soil in the countryside were hosting explosions of colour and smell, as countless different flowers bloomed, competing for space and sun.

It was unparalleled victory, a spring the likes of which Bunny had not achieved in a _very_ long time.

He was content. He wanted to lie on the grass beneath blue skies and enjoy the warm breeze, but…

 _Something_ was off.

Bunny could tell… well, he could tell _spring_. He always knew when it was time for the weather to become warmer. He could tell which parts of the world were still expecting, _hoping_ for spring. He had an innate sense of the number of children fervently wishing for brighter, warmer days in any area, any city, which in turn allowed him to calculate how many eggs he needed to prepare and send in said location. Same way he always knew what direction any specific part of the world was and therefore was able to open a tunnel that led straight to it.

Which was why Bunny was currently aware of a tiny, barely noticeable place where the soil still dreamed of spring, the seeds in the ground still lay painstakingly asleep, the water was still stuck and immobile instead of flowing gently, the cold still held everything in a vicious grip, shooing away bugs and flowers… in spite of the hope of children living nearby that by all means _should_ have been enough to trigger spring. An area that stayed persistently frozen day after day while it should be covered by lush grass and fragrant flowers and buzzing insects…

And as much as Bunnymund wanted to ignore it and nap under the sun instead, it was hard to do so. It was hard to ignore the cry of nature for warmth and life, even if it was confined in a tiny, insignificant area. Bunny needed —no, he _wanted_ — to distribute spring _everywhere._

It was just that… it was indeed only a _tiny piece of land_. Who cared? (Bunny cared.) North would definitely have some “funny” comment about bunnies being nervous and paranoid. The thing would definitely fix itself over time. He should just ignore it and bask in the satisfaction of a job well-done.

And this was exactly what he did, for the first few days at least. He strolled beneath the sun, ate fresh carrot snacks, attempted to nap beneath a willow tree during a sweet spring shower…

Yet the _tiny, insignificant piece of land_ remained frozen and nagged him like a metaphorical thorn in his side.

Bunny mulled lazily over potential explanations.

The most rational one was that a winter spirit was simply being a pain in Bunny’s fluffy behind, but whatever had caused this land to freeze had a continuous effect and it was unusual for winter spirits to linger around a single, small open location for a prolonged amount of time. Either they wandered from place to place (like Jack Frost), laid waste here and there until they found a hidden, naturally cold spot in which they could rest and sleep (like Old Man Winter), reigned on a particular mountain or valley (like Cailleach Bhéara), or preyed on humans (like Yuki-onna and Wendigos). Fixating on a tiny piece of land? Not so much.

It was unnatural and made Bunny feel unnerved. He had the paranoid inkling that he had caught on the very beginning of something new; something unnatural; something potentially _dangerous._ Something that could grow to affect much more than it currently did. This other explanation, no matter how unlikely, prevented Bunny from truly relaxing.

And after the second week of almost but _not quite_ -ubiquitous spring, Bunnymund decided that enough was enough. The only thing to do would be to check it personally, if only to appease his curiosity.

The tiny, frozen thorn in Bunny’s side was going to be removed, one way or another.

Sighing in simultaneous annoyance and relief Bunny tapped the ground twice and jumped at the newly formed tunnel.

He emerged seconds later in a sloping mountain valley. He breathed in the clean mountain air, enjoying the fresh breeze and the clear blue sky overhead. The mountain tops were rightfully white and gleaming with snow in the morning sun, while a fresh green carpet dotted with white, purple, and yellow flowers covered the slope, filling the air with fragrance. In a lower attitude, Bunny could see some sparse trees and bushes gradually turning into a forest.

No sign of any winter spirits of any sort around. Everything was peaceful and as it should be. Well, except for the problem area.

It wasn’t hard to pinpoint; it stood out in the beautiful meadow like a sore thumb.

Bunny sprinted towards it carefully, keeping any eye out for any sort of sudden movement.

It was just a circle of completely bare soil and stone, roughly ten meters in diameter —any smaller and he would never have noticed it. Ice glittered on top of the rocks, creating pretty patterns in the sunlight.

…And that was it.

There was no trace of any spirit that Bunny knew. No unusual smell whatsoever; just frozen earth, mountain air, and the residue fragrance of nearby flowers.

No footprints.

No sight of spirits lingering at the edges of Bunny’s vision.

No strange contraption placed on the earth.

Bunnymund was befuddled. He stared at the crop circle (freeze circle?) for a good while, mentally going through possible explanations. There was _definitely_ something supernatural going on —just nothing that Bunny could pinpoint.

In the end he mentally shrugged. Whatever it was, at least it didn’t seem too bad. The cause could be something relatively benign: a new legend, a new book triggering strange new belief in children…

He would return next year, and if the freeze circle had grown larger he would look into it properly. For now though, he could _finally_ enjoy a well-deserved and much-needed vacation.

Bunnymund stomped his foot twice, smiling when the magically frozen earth started to drop away without hitch. He prepared to jump in the forming hole when he saw something move inside his tunnel. It lasted only for a moment; the movement was followed by the thump of something wooden falling against the walls of the tunnel.

Something was _in_ there.

Bunny’s fur stood on edge, but he wasn’t one to turn away from any potential danger. He jumped into his tunnel without hesitation and reached the foreign object.

It was a wooden stick; a crude shepherd’s crook.

A _familiar_ shepherd’s crook.

Bunny’s green eyes widened as he picked it up hesitantly and examined it more closely. The ice patterns that normally decorated it were now gone and it looked dull and lifeless, but there was _no mistaking it_. He had seen that stick _way_ too many times; carried carelessly in the hands of its owner, balanced on its tip while the owner perched on the other end, aimed at his face, conjuring gusts of wind…

This was Jack Frost’s staff.

Which, admittedly, explained why the ground was frozen: it had been buried inside and, even apart from its owner, it still held power. In fact, as far as Bunny could glean from years of interactions with the meddlesome gallah, it was the _source_ of it.

…Why was it _buried here_? And how did said meddlesome gallah even _get_ separated from his favorite toy? Bunny doubted it would happen willingly. How would the brat make everyone’s lives miserable without it, after all?

Bunny chuckled at the thought. He imagined Frost being forced to walk around instead of flying up people’s faces like a maniac. How would he even cope without making someone slip on ice at least once per hour? He would explode from boredom!

Now Bunny was all but giggling in mirth. A literally grounded Jack Frost, with no more of the Most Annoying Powers In The Universe. Oooh, karma was sweet. He had no idea who exactly was responsible for this (Frost had literally annoyed _everyone_ ), but Bunny thanked them from the bottom of his heart.

He was still mad at them for freezing the ground by burying the stupid staff in it, though. Couldn’t they have hidden it elsewhere? Thankfully, however, now that the offending object was no longer in direct contact with the earth, the effects it had on the soil were slowly fading; Bunny could feel it beginning to thaw, water trickling to the sleeping seeds. Soon everything would be back to normal and no trace of Jack Frost’s staff ever being here would remain.

Bunny jumped happily out of the tunnel, it closing behind him, back in the fresh mountain breeze, magical staff still in his paw.

Great, now he had to figure out what to do with it. How did Frost manage to annoy him even when he didn’t have any powers?!

Several questions crossed Bunnymund’s mind:

Did he care about what Jack Frost was doing and how well he took care of his personal possessions?

No, he did not.

Did he need to look for Frost to return this to him?

Heck no. It wasn’t Bunny’s responsibility and it didn’t involve him. God knows Frost deserved to have his staff taken away from him. Now that Bunnymund actually thought about it, it was strange that it hadn’t happened _sooner._ And anyway, it was better this way, quieter–

_It had been a very dull winter._

A faint shudder run beneath Bunny’s skin.

Either Old Man Winter’s hailstorms or _nothing_. Either black frost burning crops or _nothing_. There had been none of Jack Frost’s signature meddlesome but gentle snow days. No pretty patterns on every surface. No ruined egg hunts.

And Bunny had seen neither hair nor hide of Jack Frost since the onset of autumn. Neither flying, nor grounded. _Nothing._

His paw tightened around the usually offending object.

Was Frost… _gone?_

No, he must be around somewhere, Bunny realized, otherwise why bother to hide his staff from him? They could just… leave it somewhere, anywhere–

–unless they… buried it in lieu of a body.

Bunnymund’s chest felt unexpectedly tight. He didn’t like Frost, but it wasn’t like he wanted him _dead._ On the contrary, after all these years of the winter spirit being a persistent bother in Bunny’s life, Frost had become… sort-of an acquaintance. The possibility of never seeing Frost again made Bunny feel… surprised. Surprised at the loss of a constant he hadn’t realized was a part of his life.

And, he felt a bit sad.

Suddenly, holding Jack Frost’s staff in his paw became incredibly uncomfortable. Like he was violating someone’s precious personal belongings. He was compelled to lower it gently back on the ground–

–but _no,_ what was he thinking?! How would that help in any way? The soil would just start to re-freeze. And he didn’t even know if Jack Frost was alive or not. The fact that Bunnymund had not seen him for half a year didn’t necessarily mean anything at all.

This was worth looking a bit into.

If Frost was fine, then he would return the staff to him and whack on the head whoever thought it was a good idea to bury a magical object in a place where it would disturb the wildlife.

If Frost was dead, then Bunnymund would bury the staff somewhere it wouldn’t cause any trouble.

Now for the small detail of actually _locating_ the winter spirit. Provided that he _could_ be located, of course.

Where should Bunny start looking?

Normally, if one wanted to locate Jack Frost (which was weird all by itself) he should head towards the nearest scene of excessive icy destruction and screeching children; especially in a small town called Burgess that seemed to be Frost’s favorite.

However, that was a long way from here and Frost wouldn’t be able to go very far without his staff, unless someone was helping him —which was unlikely: Frost didn’t have any friends.

There was also the possibility that whoever buried the staff had travelled well away from its owner before doing so; meaning that the winter spirit could literally be anywhere.

And while the boy was always immune to the biting cold his staff created, he was _nothing_ without his toy. Powerless. Meaning that he wouldn’t be leaving a telltale trail of frostbitten plants and destruction behind him. And even if Frost was, like the buried staff, perpetually colder than his surroundings (a guess as good as any, considering that he always _looked_ frozen) Bunny couldn’t detect another permanently and unnaturally frozen area. Wherever Frost was, he wasn’t leaving a mark.

Bunny looked around, mulling over his options. If he couldn’t locate Frost straightforwardly, he’d have to at least check the surrounding area for clues. What sort of clues, he wasn’t sure, and if Frost had been missing for half a year any trail would have gone cold by now.

The winter spirit had no believers, so there would be no human witnesses. Other spirits could see him, though, and _someone_ other than Frost must have done the digging. Probably an earth spirit of some sort.

Finally. Investigating nearby nature spirits sounded like a good lead. Bunny started to look around the grass and shrubs. He hopped from hill to hill, sniffing the air, searching for clues.

The more he searched though, Bunny came to realize that the area was strangely, frustratingly devoid of spirits. This was unusual, normally there was at least _something, anything._ Fairies, dryads, will-o-wisps… _Someone._

No one.

What was going on? Was this area particularly dangerous for spirits in some way? Was Bunny in danger as well?

His twitching nose caught a whiff of burning wood.

Bunny’s eyes were dragged towards a plume of black smoke rising out of a spot high upon the opposing slope.

…Way too much smoke for such a nice weather.

Bunnymund set off into a gallop with a nasty feeling nagging his heart.

Said nasty feeling only intensified when he neared the source of the smoke.

A hole on the ground, covered by a poorly constructed wooden door. Another hole a bit higher, out of which rose enough smoke to make Bunny cough. As far as shelters went, it was a disconcerting, forsaken one, that spoke of desolation and bare practicality. No emotion, no loving attempt to create a home had been exerted by the person who dag those holes and crafted that crude door. And it certainly wasn’t a place that spring could reach, it wasn’t a place in which Bunny would be able to detect a _lack_ of spring if, say, a powerless winter spirit was staying inside.

Not that Frost would have any reason to be here; the idea was laughable.

No spirit in their right mind would want him to live with them. While forcefully separating him from his source of power was indeed a sensible course of action, willingly keeping him around was _not._ Jack Frost always made a mess of everything in new and creative ways, and Bunny could simply not imagine anyone wanting to have him close for prolonged periods of time.

Jack Frost deciding to dig up such a miserable home for himself was even more ridiculous: despite his many negative qualities, Frost was eager and bright to the point of frivolity. He reveled in stupid pranks and had a boundless energy when it came to wrecking sprees without taking into account others’ needs and wants. He’d never contend with spending his days in such a miserable, dreadful place; practically a burning furnace–

Bunnymund felt a dreadful cold clenching his heart.

 _…Surely_ Jack Frost hadn’t decided to melt himself or something? He wouldn’t abandon his staff and lock himself up in a warm room? Surely he’d never do such a thing, the kid was _wayyy_ too over-stimulated to pause long enough to get depressed… Not there was even anything worth getting depressed about! Yeah, Frost didn’t have many —scratch that, he didn’t have _any_ believers— but he didn’t seem to _mind…_ He always did what was necessary to have his fun. And he didn’t have any friends either but he obviously didn’t care, otherwise he would try to be less annoying and more friendly to fellow spirits. No, no, everything was fine.

And even if he did try to... to give up… That wasn’t Bunny’s fault, right? Yeah, he did complain when Frost messed with his work but he didn’t yell too much, right? It wasn’t as if anything would permeate Frost’s thick skull…

Bunny was well aware he was stalling.

He was scared.

Sweat started to concentrate on Bunny’s brow, sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of the smoke and everything to do with a guilty conscience.

 _Surely_ Frost knew there were no actual hard feelings, right? No harm done?

…Although it _was_ true that Bunny had been particularly nasty the last time they met… The previous year had been hard for spring.

Bunny took deep breaths and steeled his nerves. No point in fretting about it now, and there was nothing he could do to alter the past anyway. It was unlikely that Frost was even in this cave. It was much more probable that the spirit who buried the staff lived here; or some sort of witness.

Without further hesitation, Bunny opened the door and stepped inside.

The air inside the cave was only lukewarm. A strong hearth burnt brightly on the far corner of the room, illuminating the sparse furniture. Apart from the stink of smoke and ashes, an unpleasant, dimly familiar smell that Bunny could not place had permeated the cave. There was another smell beneath the smoke too, a faint but easily recognizable one of fresh snow and chilled morning wind. Bunnymund’s gaze slid over the counter, table, and chair and focused at the hammock hanging in the other corner of the room. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Jack Frost was asleep in the hammock in a ridiculous position. One hand was trailing to the floor, while the other was _leaning_ _on the wall_ above his face, upright.

Bunny stared. He had come across Frost sleeping on trees in various absurd positions in the past, but this was by far the most bizarre one.

Somehow, the sight of Jack Frost being not only simply asleep, but asleep in his own ridiculous way, lifted a heavy weight from Bunny’s chest. Mystery solved. Frost was fine. Nothing… Nothing unfixable on Bunny’s part had happened. Everything was fine. Maybe Frost had made a friend who was willing to accommodate him; stranger things had happened, after all. The fire was probably for the friend’s sake.

That still didn’t explain what happened with the staff, but Bunny was almost beyond the point of caring. The simple issue of figuring out a patch of frozen earth had been stretched to unpredictable lengths and stretched Bunny’s patience taut with it. Many sleepless nights and one more afternoon wasted because of Jack Frost, again. Bunny wanted this to be over, and fast.

All that remained was to wake the moron up, find out who buried the freezing staff in the ground and then whack them on the head with it.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty,” he growled, stomping towards the hammock. “Ya have some explaining to do.” Bunny reached the resting spirit, who had remained suspiciously immobile despite the loud voice and footsteps. He tensed as he lifted a paw to shake Frost, expecting a sudden prank or a jump scare to–

Jack Frost looked pretty much dead.

He was completely unmoving — _there wasn’t even a visible rise and fall of a breathing chest_. The spirit’s normally bright, pale skin now looked greyish and waxen. There were dark circles beneath his closed eyelids, giving him an exhausted look, while a slight frown marred his boyish features. His expression was frozen into faded misery.

Bunny felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with Frost’s freezing powers. The nasty feeling inside his chest had returned, biting at his throat with a vengeance.

Jack Frost couldn’t actually _be_ dead, right? …Maybe he was just severely sick…

Could it be because he didn’t have his staff? Did he _need it_ in some way? Had someone found him collapsed and decided to help him, lighting such a large fire in a misguided attempt to keep him warm?

Bunny rested the staff on the boy’s chest, next to the upright arm, but even though it got covered by icy patterns again, there was no visible change to the spirit himself.

“Frost. Frost, _wake up,_ ”Bunny ordered as gently as he could manage. He didn’t want to upset a sick person, whether they were Jack Frost or not.

The boy did not react.

“ _Jack,”_ he attempted more urgently, shaking his shoulder with a paw.

The hammock started swaying back and forth, the boy’s head lulled to the side by the motion.

Bunnymund’s eyes were dragged to Jack Frost’s left hand, which remained glued to the wall in spite of the hammock’s swaying.

It was only then that he noticed that the thin wrist was shackled directly to the wall.

Bunnymund felt as if a frozen weight had settled in his stomach.

“It’s rude to touch someone else’s food,” said a familiar, hated voice from behind him.

He spun around, every hair standing on end.


	6. A good manicure would alter the odds

Even as Bunnymund turned around, keeping Jack Frost behind him, he felt a wave of dread threatening to overwhelm him: at the sound of the voice, his brain finally put a name to the vaguely familiar smell that had pervaded the cave beneath the cover of smoke. It was the sulfuric stench of unappeased hunger; the sour stink of greasy hair; the overwhelming odor of caked and rotten blood.

But mostly hunger. Insatiable hunger.

Bunny knew that smell well. It belonged to someone he had never wanted to see again.

Yet Bunny had trouble comprehending what he saw in front of him. The smell was hers, the face was hers (he would _never_ forget that face, that _mouth_ ), but she looked… she looked _so fat_. The image he had of her, from the last time he had seen her, _ages ago_ , was that of a living skeleton. Wrinkled skin glued to bones. Hollowed abdomen covered by rags. The old woman in front of him was _overweight._ She had bulging cheeks. Arms with hanging fat. A protruding stomach. Thighs thick and sweaty.

Bunny did not understand. Even after… after _feeding_ , she was still thin, she was _always_ thin, it was never enough to make her look much better than a gaunt figure. How, _how many_ did she… to get like _this_ … No one had reported… _How could the Guardians not have noticed– It was impossible–_

Realization hit him like a douse of freezing water.

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

Bunnymund slowly reached to grab a boomerang, doing his best to steel his nerves and avoiding panicking. He did not want to dwell on the implications, nor of how powerful she would be like this.

Nor of if he had any chance to make it out alive.

Her eyes were narrowed, pinned on the spirit behind Bunny (but Frost hadn’t moved, still hadn’t moved, Bunny had been hoping to sense a twitch, to hear a breath of air, but it was only dead silence). She appeared unfazed by the Guardian’s obvious attempt to reach for a weapon and took her time to place an empty bucket —which although looked clean, _reeked_ of blood— on the wooden counters and then to lay out a bunch of wet rags. Bunny’s gaze couldn’t leave her fingers as they moved —plump fingers, with long, sharp nails, dirty and blackened where the nail met skin. They, too, smelled of caked blood.

“You are extremely rude today, Bunnymund,” she croaked when she finished, finally turning her eyes on _him_. “You entered my home uninvited, you are planning to attack me, and you touched my food with your filthy paws and _with_ _that_ _stick —_ that was packed in _dirt_. What sort of role model are you for the children?”

It was several seconds before Bunny managed to get his anger under enough control to formulate _words_ , yet his voice shook with fury as he spoke.

“…What did ya think was going to happen? Ya were not permitted to eat children any more, Old Hag. We Guardians had made that clear, a long time ago.”

The Old Hag started croaking a dry laugh. “Is _that_ what this is all about? I _do_ remember your annoying preaching about why it’s supposedly wrong, and the _very_ rude means you used for me to _‘learn lesson’_ , as the fat man had put it,” she spat with disgust. “Forcing me to abstain from my favorite food; to _restrict_ myself to only draining amounts of energy _so miniscule_ that your pampered brats wouldn’t even _notice_. I graciously conceded even though _I hated it_. So don’t twist your tail in a knot _now_ , Bunnymund, because I have found the perfect solution.”

“I seriously doubt it,” Bunny hissed through clenched teeth as he took a battle stance.

The Old Hag laughed again, slamming her fat hand on her thigh. “You are not very smart, are you Bunnymund? _That,”_ she pointed to the spirit laying unmoving behind him, “is no human child; it’s Jack Frost, an immortal. He can’t die, at least as long as I don’t overdo it; and I haven’t. I’m not even hurting him,” she raised her voice when Bunny opened his mouth to interrupt. “He passed out for good from day three and hasn’t woken up since. He can’t feel anything. He doesn’t even have any friends or family that would miss him. I’m eating _without_ _killing or hurting anyone,_ ” she concluded with a hint of malicious triumph in her voice.

The argument that _he,_ Bunnymund, missed Frost and came to look for him was so weak it died in his throat. _Months_ had passed without him noticing the teenaged spirit’s absence —what if the staff had been hidden in a better way? How long would it be before he realized that the boy was gone?

“…I very much doubt Jack Frost wants to spend his remaining years comatose in here,” Bunny replied instead. In truth, he was terrified of the oncoming battle and wanted to try any other possible way out; even pathetic attempts at a rational discussion. _Any way_ to avoid the inevitable… He had the nasty habit of being overly hopeful. “Ya _are_ hurting him, even if he isn’t aware of it.”

The Old Hag’s triumphant toothy grin sent shivers running down Bunny’s spine. “You are _wrong once again_ , my overgrown rabbit,” the monster replied sweetly. “Jackie boy _wants_ to be here. Do you know, he was even going to throw a chunk of burning ash to my face but then _he changed his mind,”_ she said slowly, with relish. “He _loves_ being here.” Bunny scowled in blatant disbelief but she went on, watching his expression: “ _I took him in when he got lost and hurt_ , I tended to him. I asked him of his pastimes and adventures. I sang him a lullaby as he slept. I _tucked him in_ the first night.”

Bunny felt like vomiting.

“You should have seen his face, he was _so happy_ … I got the impression that no one else has ever taken care of this child, Guardian,” she smiled her terrible smile. “Not even you. But _I_ did take care of him. And I never intend to stop. _This sweet child is mine,”_ she growled menacingly and took a step forward. “Now _step away from my food_ or the children of the world will find themselves _one useless guardian short._ ”

Bunny took a deep, steady breath. There was nothing else to discuss, and every second wasted was another second the Old Hag was draining energy from her victim. He had to act _now._

His primary weapons were his boomerangs and egg bombs which could not be thrown in such close quarters; the bombs in particular were absolutely out of the picture due to Frost’s weakened state.

Bunny could also fight in hand to hand combat; he had a powerful kick and a single blow of his boomerang was enough to break bones. However, the Old Hag had razor-sharp teeth and nails and she got stronger, faster, more powerful _the more she ate_. While she was usually a starving creature, she had been feeding on an infinite food source for _months._

…It was a lost battle and they both knew it.

Normally when faced with such unfavorable odds he would take the chance of running to fetch Sandy for backup and returning as fast as possible in the hopes of catching her before she got too far. The two of them would be more likely to gain the upper hand.

Now, that idea barely crossed his mind.

Bunny didn’t have that luxury.

_He didn’t have the right to leave Jack Frost’s side for a single moment._

He stood his ground.

“Is that guilty conscience I smell?” the Old Hag sneered, displaying her horrible toothy smile. “Or maybe incompetence?”

“Ah, the rumors about yer sense of smell are not exaggerated,” Bunny whispered, eyeing her carefully. “The other guardians will hunt ya down…” he said slowly. “Ya won’t make it out of this. Give up.”

She barked a laugh. “Trying to make someone hopeless _really_ doesn’t suit you. You do your best to appease your guilty conscience and don’t worry about _me_ ,” she snickered, voice full of hate. “I’m going to _gain_ something out of this: adult meat tastes disgusting, but I would _love_ to have a rabbit fur coat. You know, to keep warm while I’m eating.”

She jumped at him before Bunnymund could recover from the shock of the implications of that sentence.

The Old Hag went straight for his throat and he barely had time to raise his free arm to protect himself. Her horrible breath overwhelmed his senses as she slammed into him, sending him backwards, nails digging deep into his arm instead of his neck.

He struggled to keep himself from falling on the weakened child still lying behind him, moving frantically to avoid getting skewered in a vital organ.

She snapped at his throat just as he managed to kick her in the stomach.

The blow was powerful enough to throw her off him —her nails tearing long, deep red lines in his arm before they left— and she slammed against the opposite wall, but she didn’t give him any time to spare. The Old Hag was on her feet and lunged again in the blink of an eye.

He kicked in pure instinct, and although this time he successfully sent her flying before she could grab hold of him, she left long, painful gashes in the side of his neck.

He didn’t quite manage to hold back a howl.

The Old Hag took her time getting up now; she eyed him, snickering, seemingly deciding where she should slash next.

Bunny raised his arms in a battle stance again, panting. His fear was confirmed: _she was faster than him now_.

There was no way he could beat her.

He braced himself as she lunged once more; this time though he didn’t attempt to kick her away. Bunny timed his foot for a different action, and when the Old Hag came he held on tight, doing his best to keep her from stabbing at a lethal spot.

The ground opened beneath them to swallow them both in deep, long darkness.

The Old Hag’s growl of annoyance turned into an angry hiss when he shoved an egg bomb in her face.

In such an enclosed place, it could take both of them out.

Bunny was trying to think of a smartass one-liner but it turned out it wasn’t necessary. The Old Hag had jumped off of him the moment she realized what he was holding and she proceeded to get attached to the tunnel wall with her nails at a safe distance.

“…Not willing to sacrifice yer own life, but hoping to live another day? _Never would have guessed_ ,” Bunny growled under his breath, already running in the opposite direction, the tunnel having sealed closed right behind him.

He hadn’t even set the egg bomb to explode.

His side of the tunnel opened up back inside the Old Hag’s hideout and Bunny rushed straight towards Frost’s still form.

There was no time to lose. Bunny was sure that the Old Hag would be able to dig herself out in seconds with the amount of power she currently possessed; she would be _right at their heels_.

He smashed the chain holding him prisoner with a single careful blow of his boomerang and scooped the child and the staff up with one bloodied arm, holding them tightly against his chest.

Bunnymund was just about to open another tunnel when he noticed the ground bulging in front of his feet.

She was already here.

He opted to make a run for it instead, throwing an egg bomb behind him as he jumped out the door.

This time it exploded, the blast deafening him and hopefully giving them enough time. Bunny couldn’t run properly with both arms full and injured, and running with two legs was _so much slower_ – he had to make another tunnel, _now_ –

Something slashed at his back.

He hadn’t heard her approaching. Bunny toppled forward. The winter spirit and his staff flew from his arms right before Bunny faceplanted into the ground.

He recovered and raised his head just in time to see Jack Frost land a good few meters away, rolling limply in the grass several times before coming into a stop amongst crushed flowers, his staff just out of reach.

He could smell and hear the Old Hag, she was _so close_ and he was too dazed to get up again—

“Frost! Fly! Wake up, dammit!” Bunny yelled desperately to the unmoving spirit.

“Oh, _I think you’re being overly hopeful_ ,” said the hated voice with relish from right above him.

He turned to kick her mouth in just as she slashed at his face.


	7. Five more minutes, mum

Jack listened to the faint whistle of the wind; the gentle rustle of leaves. The smell of wildflowers filled his nostrils. It was rare for him to be able to smell flowers; they usually froze wherever he went… He wanted to fill his lungs with a deep breath, although his breaths came out shallow and insufficient. The sun was in his eyes, too. Jack couldn’t quite summon the energy to turn his face away.

There were noises nearby —animals shuffling in the grass. He liked animals. They were fun and hardly ever bothered him, even the wild ones. He didn’t need to stir.

There was a pained yelp, almost too quiet to be heard —his eyelids did flutter at that, he could not stand others’ suffering— but the haze was too much to overcome.

“…st’ … hurt?... _it… ‘al… slowly…_ make it… bite like that…” growled a vaguely familiar voice above Jack’s head.

Jack felt like it would be nice to respond. “…Bad dog…” he whispered sleepily.

“… _wish_ it was a dog! … _when y–_ Wait. Can… hear me?”

“…Can _you_ hear me?” Jack mumbled. People could never see nor hear him.

“Yep, still out of it,” the voice went on. Jack should be able to attach a name to it, he was sure. He frowned with the effort. “Don’t try too hard… go back to sleep,” the voice advised, which made him want to do the opposite.

Jack fluttered his eyes open just the tinniest bit and was greeted with blurry, way-too-bright shapes. He clenched them shut again.

The world was swaying slightly. Jack took it as a personal challenge and attempted to sit up. He would have probably fallen over if it wasn’t for something warm and steady bracing his back.

“Don’t try too hard,” the voice repeated, even though it sounded extremely relieved. Jack blinked several times and a blurry yet somewhat familiar shape appeared to his side. Once again, he felt like he should be able to link it with a name but his brain refused to function.

Jack buried his face in his hands, exhausted; even lifting _his arms_ was difficult and one of them twanged in pain.

He really wasn’t up for this right now, although he didn’t want to fall asleep again before figuring out what was going on. “Perhaps ya should lie back down,” the voice proposed, sounding concerned. Jack ignored it and focused on taking deep breaths. It was gradually getting easier.

Something was missing. His sight still unclear, Jack lowered his hands to grope blindly for his staff.

His fingers touched soft grass. It turned brittle under his fingers and crumbled.

“Here,” the voice said and the familiar texture grazed the palm of his hand.

Jack Frost’s fingers tightened around his staff.

Something settled inside him; as if caked, dry soil was finally soaked with rain. He managed to take the first deep breath since he woke up.

Jack blinked to see a blurry image of the Easter Bunny crouching right next to him. There was something weird about Bunny though; the winter spirit rubbed his eyes tiredly and his sight cleared a bit.

Bunny’s frowning eyes were pinned on Jack, although he didn’t seem particularly angry. And.

He was dressed as a mummy.

“Can ya see me?” he asked the boy, frowning.

Jack giggled. Well. Bunny didn’t strike him as someone who would participate in this kind of thing —he always looked too serious and too pompous for such frivolities— but it was _so nice_ to see that he was wrong. And why not? It was heartwarming that everyone had some fun for a change.

Jack smiled widely, struggling in turns to speak, and to breathe enough to speak. “…That’s… pretty cool,” he wheezed. Eh, what was wrong with him today?

Bunny stared back. “What?”

The winter spirit gestured vaguely in Bunny’s direction. Gesturing didn’t require exhaling, so it was easier. He contemplated closing his eyes and lying down to sleep again, although when he relaxed his stomach muscles he didn’t fall backwards as expected. Weird.

Bunny scooted a tiny bit closer. “Frost, can you see me?” he repeated.

“…You’re Bummy,” he slurred in response and giggled under his breath. Bunny – mummy. Bummy. He knew it was horrible but he also thought it was hilarious.

Bummy sighed. “Good enough, I suppose,” he said. “Do ya remember what happened?”

Jack rolled his eyes in thought. ‘I ruined Easter’ couldn’t be the answer when _Halloween_ was just around the corner, and what else could Bunny possibly care about?

Jack’s mind came up blank.

The situation didn’t stress him. Usually, one day was similar to the next, in that they were all fun and nothing outstanding or important had been achieved; nothing worth pinpointing. The same thing had happened this time, too: He had fun. He made a mess. He probably ran headfirst into a tree. It could have been Bunny’s favorite tree. Or he could have fallen on Bunny’s favorite flower. The details were unimportant. The end result was that Bunny was upset at him, and Jack was never one to simply let himself be scolded like a child.

Staring at Bunny with eyes wide, as innocent as he could possibly fake, he gestured again at the bandages covering more than half of Bunny’s body. “So, is there story behind this?”

Bunny stared and then he straightened up, appearing taller, his chest swelling with arrogance, but Jack did not let him recount the tale accompanying his costume.

“Let me guess,” Jack went on just as Bunny opened his mouth. “You tried to hide eggs in an Egyptian tomb and got a curse in the face as a thank-you. Since then you’ve been slowly turning into a mummy.”

Bunny’s mouth snapped closed.

“What? You’ve gotta admit, it’s actually a plausible story,” Jack giggled. “It could happen!”

Bunny glared.

“It’s not an insult! It’s, uh… It shows you have proper professional spirit, yes. Hiding eggs everywhere. Very thorough.”

Bunny glared some more. “Are ya finished?”

Jack’s face became solemn. “I’m afraid though that no one will notice the difference though,” he went on in a completely serious voice. “You were a stuffed-up bigwig before, too,” Jack concluded, cracking up with barely-held laughter.

Bunny’s left eye twitched.

It was only when Bunny’s arm was removed from behind his back that Jack realized it had been supporting him. Jack fell flat on his back. It knocked the wind out of him, but he didn’t mind. He spent the next few seconds happily trying to breathe in adequate air, all the while Bunny spluttered indignantly above his head.

“Ya dr–! This– If ya must know, I got into a fight!”

“…With a two-headed dragon,” Jack contributed happily. “It was a hard battle, but you emerged victorious after feeding it chocolate eggs. It was allergic to chocolate and died.”

“Quit mocking me!” Bunny snapped again. “It was a fight with the Old Hag! Does that name ring ya a bell?”

Jack burst into easy laughter. “That doesn’t sound like you, Bunny! It has to be something more impressive than children’s scares!”

“Ugh, ya daft, ignorant– I did it to help ya! She _is_ a real danger, and I _fought her_ to _help ya!_ ”

Jack stared at Bunny, uncomprehending. “Now you’re just being absurd. Whelp, I suppose people will laugh at the absurdity, so —good one,” he concluded, yet his voice had turned a bit sour. He tried to get up again, unsuccessfully.

Bunny let out a weak, uncertain laugh. “What, ya don’t believe me? Ya don’t remember?”

Jack turned his face the other way in anger. This blow was too low, even for Bunny. Bunny yelling at him and taunting him was one thing; Bunny mocking the fact that they would never be on friendly terms with each other was much worse.

He wanted to fly away at top speed; he wanted to get back at Bunny for this; but most of all, he didn’t want to show any weakness.

“Well, the fight of a bunny rabbit against a senile spirit specialized on scaring toddlers must not have been very impressive, because it doesn’t ring a bell,” Jack mocked back, slurring his words a little: he was trying to raise himself up on his elbows but he was getting dizzier with every movement. He wouldn’t be able to come up with good comebacks if this went on.

“…Ya’re not making this any easier, ya gallah,” Bunny’s annoyed voice reached him from behind, as if the whole thing was Jack’s fault somehow. He went on talking, and it took a few moments for the words and their meaning to register in Jack’s brain. Bunny recounted how the Old Hag was not a tale for scaring little children, but that she stalked and ate kids and, apparently, teenagers.

Jack snorted in deride, giving up on standing up or talking, for now.

Bunny’s endless babbling went on; he narrated how they had escaped by a hair’s breadth; how Bunny had kicked Old Hag’s face in; how that had bought them only a moment, during which he opened a tunnel and they escaped. Jack was lulled despite himself by the story, by the drone of Bunny’s grumpy voice. It was a surprisingly detailed and strange backstory for a Halloween costume, even if it was meant as an insult, and Jack found himself amused by that. The amusement gradually replaced his resentment for Bunny and Jack’s eyelids fluttered closed. He wanted to go back to sleep.

He relaxed into the now brittle grass, feeling as if his heavy limbs melted into the ground. His right arm, still stiff and sore, stung with pain–

 _–sharp things sinking deep into his arm, and_ _he couldn’t move_ –

Jack flinched bodily, gasping and jerking into a sitting position. The sudden movement startled Bunny, who started exclaiming various things, but Jack didn’t take any notice. He kept running his hand over the sore limb, trying to chase the feeling away, to reassure himself that he was okay, while the muscle hurt alarmingly with every movement.

He was grabbed by the shoulders —Jack’s panic spiked. He had to get away, and he couldn’t move, _he couldn’t lift a single limb–_

But _no_ : he was _thrashing_ , he _could_ move _._ He was okay. It was just Bunny– His arm was fine, it was just a– there was–

–there was a nightmare.

A permanent nightmare, of something biting hungrily into his arm and him unable to stir.

Jack shuddered, even as he started to calm down. The memory was foggy and vague, yet it felt to Jack extremely intense as well; the desperation and confusion of it was engraved into his brain.

…A nightmare…?

His fingers tightened gingerly around the sore limb.

Bunny’s words finally registered in his brain.

“–right, ya’re okay! It’s going to be fine!”

Jack pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal white bandages covering his skin from wrist to shoulder. He stared, mouth open in disbelief.

 “…I wouldn’t advise it,” Bunny’s raised voice stopped Jack as he made a motion to tear away the white cloth. The boy turned to stare at the Guardian, at a loss. “ _Trust me_ , you don’t want to _–_ …It’s… it’s still healing,” Bunny went on, more softly, but Jack knew exactly what Bunny was going to say originally.

Bunny crouched next to him, ears flat. “I bandaged it myself. The wounds a spirit inflicts on another spirit are always slow to heal. I know it smarts, but ya’re going to be fine. See, she did a number on me too,” he gestured at himself, at the mummy bandages covering him nearly from head to toe.

Jack looked down, frowning in concentration.

The… He remembered being hurt badly. Lying on the ground without his staff, unable to get up.

There was something hunting him; he was scared. He couldn’t flee.

Another scene played in Jack’s brain; a serene mountain slope turned into a perilous battleground, an enraged troll hurling trees and boulders at him. He had kept flying around, something to do with some skiers? Giving them enough time to escape, _he_ had woken the troll, _he_ had led them to its hideout–

He had eventually fled across the mountains, the troll always right at his heels.

Jack’s breath turned into a shuddering gasp as the gap in his memory was filled with the shock of an impact among the clouds. The airplane collision in the middle of a frenetic flight through a blizzard.

…The starving old lady, talking to him. Pulling him up a slope against his will.

But afterwards he hadn’t minded, had he? The promise of a gentle touch had been too much to resist.

_The permanent nightmare._

Jack flinched bodily.

_It had been real._

The horrified realization flooded him and threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t bear to think about it… He was being– _alive_ – _She–_

Jack clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to get the memories out of his mind, the feeling out his limbs. He didn’t want to remember anything more, and at this point he was grateful for the current state of his brain, tangled and full of holes.

It was–

– _No_ –

But it was over now, wasn’t it? It was over. He had his staff, and Bunny said he was healing… Bunny had helped him.

He looked up to stare into Bunny’s frowning face.

“…I, hah, I didn’t know the Old Hag was an actual thing,” Jack laughed weakly.

The Easter Bunny lifted an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes. Jack didn’t like the resulting expression.

“…So what…? She looks as if her face was carved by the king of nightmares,” Bunny replied slowly, his voice gradually colored with a mixture of incredulity and annoyance. _“_ She has the manners of a crocodile. _She lives alone in a cave. Any_ child would have fled on sight! Ya are hundreds of years old and ya couldn’t tell that something was wrong? Ya _really_ need to be more careful, Frost.”

It was– He was–

Jack clenched his fists. _It was over._ And he was fine. He had his staff, he was healing, he was okay. It was… it was like being bitten by a dog, really.

That had happened before, and he hadn’t really made a big deal out of it. Τhere hadn’t even been anyone around to help him then.

Instead of a dog, this time it was an evil magical woman, _but_ the main point was the same. Besides, better him than an _actual_ _child_.

The idea made Jack shudder.

Then smile.

Better _him_ than an actual child.

Jack laughed again, this time with more vigor. “Don’t fret, Bunny! It sucks that you got hurt, but think of the _bright_ side!”

“There is _literally_ not a single positive thing in these events,” Bunny growled, crossing his arms.

“Wrong!” Jack replied brightly. “Now you have a costume ready!”

Bunny stared at the winter spirit as if the latter was addled in the head; something that was probably true. Yet irrelevant. “…What?” he said uncertainly, uncrossing his arms.

“You can be a mummy!”

Bunny kept staring at him.

“For Halloween!” Jack went on eagerly. “Oh man, tell me I have not missed it because of that ugly crone! It was due next week last I remember…” Bunny was still not reacting and Jack found his own voice lowering until it drowned in uncertainty.

Several long moments passed during which Jack felt emptier and emptier inside, until Bunny finally responded. “It’s, ah… It’s actually April, Frost. Ya’ve missed Easter as well. And, uh, Christmas too I suppose.”

The emptiness inside Jack grew, numbing him.

He was gone for five months. It was not that he had intended to do anything important during these five months… But it made him feel…

He felt…

Jack forced himself to speak. To breathe. To follow a different, happier train of thought. “Well. You must have at least enjoyed a peaceful Easter for once, then! Savor it, because I don’t intend for that to happen again.” Bunny growled at that comment but Jack ignored it. “Is that how you noticed I was gone?”

Bunny met his gaze steadily and answered in a soft voice. “The Old Hag had buried yer staff, probably in case ya woke up and tried to leave. It kept the ground around it frozen after spring had arrived, and I came to investigate.”

“Oh. Okay then.” The emptiness inside Jack numbed him completely. It hadn’t been _his presence_ that was missed, obviously. It was his amazing gift of causing trouble for others —even when he was hurt and unconscious— that had drawn Bunny in.

Well, at least _that_ was apparently reliable. And Bunny had even helped him despite it. That’s great, actually, if… if he was stuck dying somewhere and threw a snowy tantrum about it, Bunny might pop by to whop his frozen butt. And maybe even help him in the process, if it wasn’t too late and he felt like it.

This was great news!

Jack’s face split into a wide, elated smile, earning a bizarre look from Bunny, but the winter spirit was past the point of caring. He was so happy: Bunny might help him if he created a big enough mess in his distress! Whoo!

Jack was now all but bouncing where he sat, exhaustion and dizziness forgotten. He was unable to contain his excitement, he wanted to fly, to laugh, to shout! Meanwhile poor Bunny looked more and more uncomfortable with this newest development, and Jack couldn’t resist teasing him. He put on his best mischievous smile. “If you hadn’t noticed my absence for five months, I _certainly_ haven’t been trying hard enough to make my presence known until now…”

The Easter Bunny’s eyebrows furrowed. “Frost…” he growled warningly.

“No need to speak, Bunny!” Jack cut him off happily. “Besides, I have half a year’s worth of snow days to catch up! I’m already full of ideas! How about a snowball fight with Easter eggs hidden inside the snowballs? When one lands on your face you get to eat it!”

Bunny’s short temper (currently probably even shorter due to stress and injury) snapped. “Frost!” he yelled indignantly. “Easter is an important holiday, stop mocking it!”

“Are you saying snowball fights aren’t important?”

“Ya are always thinking only of yourself and yer own amusement, that’s yer issue!” Bunny retorted angrily. “Did ya ever pause to think that ya might get actual people in trouble when ya waste yer time rushing around like a madman?”

“Please, it’s not my fault some of them have terrible balance and keep slipping and falling on their butts–”

“ _That_ is debatable! However, while ya being a roommate with the Old Hag is not yer fault, it will _still_ result in plenty of children dying, and _why_ do I have an inkling ya could have avoided that encounter if ya had been more careful?”

Jack stared at him incredulously. “…What? What’s this about, now?” The Old Hag eating _him_ meant she was too busy to eat _anyone else_ , what was Bunny going on about?

Bunny sighed, suddenly looking a lot more tired. “The Old Hag doesn’t just physically eat children. She literally sucks their life force whenever they’re close enough, and she gets more powerful the more she has absorbed. She becomes… faster, stronger. In the past she was kept in check, she never managed to feed enough to become an actual threat, she could always be contained. She usually had no option but to play nice. Wander a little bit around villages… Satiate her hunger just slightly… Weaken a child or two to the point they catch a cold, at worst. Now, however…”

Bunny raised pained eyes to look at Jack. “The Old Hag has been ea– she had an _infinite power source_ for _months_. You are a spirit, almost immortal; she could go on forever. Drained you dry. Now she is… she is stronger than ever. I couldn’t– I couldn’t beat her. There’s no reason for her to play nice any longer. I’m sure she is on a feeding rampage even as we speak, draining kids dead.” Bunny’s voice broke, desperation coloring his voice. “I can’t even find her. I tried to _track her_ , with my nose; after we arrived here and I made sure we were both okay, I went back. I tried to find where she had gone, to set a trap or call for help or something. There was no trace of her. She could have gone anywhere. She’s fast. She’s faster than me.”

Bunny took a deep, shuddering breath. “Listen Frost, ya’re not to blame for her atrocities. But ya need to be more careful.”

Jack heard himself speak.

“Do you think she would try to feed off me again?”

Bunny scoffed. “Oh, _definitely._ She’s _always hungry_ , and immortal children are once in a lifetime chances. She would _not_ let ya get away a second time.” He sighed. “If at any point in the future ya start feeling more and more exhausted for no discernible reason, she’s probably somewhere around and yer best bet is to fly away as fast as possible, _”_ he explained in a grumpy voice. “Ya’re still drained right now, so make sure ya rest until ya’re able to do just that. Ya can stay here to recover; I’ve made sure it’s safe.”

A strangled laugh tore its way out of Jack’s throat. And after he paused to gasp for a breath, the laugh continued.

It rattled his insides painfully, filling his ears with hideous sounds and leaving him out of breath. It was as ugly as the absurdly unfair notion that triggered it, and Jack wanted it to stop.

“…Ya know, a ‘thank ya’ would be more appropriate than mockery at this point,” an angry voice growled. Bunny’s voice.

The laughter drowned. “Thank you for finding my stick,” he replied automatically.

“Ugh, don’t remind me of _th_ –”

Jack slammed his hands on the ground.

He pushed himself to a standing position and didn’t pause even when he stumbled sideways. Bunny took a hesitant step towards him but then the boy soared in the air like a rocket and was out of sight within seconds.

Bunny rolled his eyes in annoyance.


	8. Hide and Seek, Fishing, Tag

Jack flew in nervous circles around Old Hag’s cave, taking care to keep himself at least half a dozen meters high at all times. His eyes scanned the landscape for signs of movement.

Sparse grass swayed serenely in the gentle breeze he created in his path. Numerous rocks and boulders protruded from the green carpet, laying bare and occasionally glittering when the fallen snowflakes caught on the weak sunlight. There was nothing suspicious and there was no place for a person to hide, yet the scenery seemed to Jack as treacherously peaceful. His gaze turned again and again to focus on the black hole gaping open in the rocky slope; a crude wooden door creaking ominously.

Jack felt his stomach lurch as he stared at the opening. He couldn’t remember what the cave had looked like from the outside —he had been too busy staring at the ground at the time— but the knowledge of what had happened inside was enough to make the act of simply _looking_ at the unfamiliar entrance fill him with nauseating dread.

The Old Hag… wouldn’t still be in there, would she?

Bunny had already searched the place and had been unable to locate her. If she was still around, Jack couldn’t imagine how _he_ and his mediocre eyesight could possibly succeed where Bunny and his keen sense of smell had failed. Yet he couldn’t afford not to try.

He couldn’t afford to waste time stalling, either. Every minute spent was a minute he _didn’t have_. It had taken him an agonizingly long time to locate the Old Hag’s lair in the first place: it turned out that Bunny had transported him to a random tiny secluded island in the middle of the ocean, and it was a good while before he managed to determine his location and head for the mountain range where it had all taken place. He backtracked easily to the crevice that troll had been using as a hideout, but it was all guesswork from then on: he had lost his bearings as he fled from the troll into the clouds so he now had no choice but to search every mountain peak, slope and cliff in the surrounding area.

It had been an arduous, nerve-wracking process. Jack was still tired from the aftermath of the Old Hag’s attack and he hadn’t had time to rest —he couldn’t risk getting too close to the ground, anyway. What was worse was that his thoughts kept straying uselessly towards the gory fate that had befell too many children— _even one child was too many and how many had fallen victims until now?_ — his mind constructing unbearably vivid imagery, of little children’s bloodied corpses piled up and that skeletal woman grabbing–

That was always the point where Jack’s mind gave out. He couldn’t bear to think about it, he couldn’t stand it, maybe it wasn’t so, maybe nothing bad had happened yet, maybe it wasn’t too late, he didn’t have to believe it, he needed to re-direct his thoughts _anywhere_ else, it was _all because of him_ –

And then his train of thought inevitably led towards what awaited _him._

Every human-sized shadow, every sound of a branch snapping, every glimpse of movement from the ground below was enough to make him jittery, breath catching, fingertips numbing and trembling just slightly. Peace and quiet all around him would follow; or an animal playing, or the wind —and the moment of panic would pass; to be renewed shortly at the next hint that maybe he wasn’t alone in the area.

It was a whole strenuous day later when he finally thought the surrounding peaks and slopes looked mildly familiar, and not long after when he was filled with an impossible mixture of relief and dread, having spotted a black hole with an ugly wooden door at its side.

Jack circled the cave opening a few times, watching every shadow like a hawk. When he concluded that nothing appeared to be suspicious he steeled his nerves and began flying lower and lower.

Finally, his feet still stubbornly refusing to touch the ground, he floated through the gaping hole.

The room inside was familiar.

It was dirty, everything covered by a thin layer of what looked and smelled like soot. Some of the furniture was overturned, objects were lying on the floor, and most important of all there was a collapsed, burnt hole in the centre of the room—Jack guessed that was the tunnel where Bunny had jumped out of— yet he could recognize the place with ease.

The ray of wooden counters, previously sporting a collection of knives, currently empty. The dirty hammock, now hanging from a single nail.

He took shuddering breaths as his gaze fell on a wooden armchair with two broken legs lying on its side, in front of a fireplace crudely carved out of the stone wall. Jack could almost feel the burn of the fire on the back of his neck again; the smolder against his fingers. The hearth was now burnt-out and cold though, covered in ash.

Jack stared around some more, landing on his feet but hesitant of getting much further from the exit. It was clear that some sort of battle had taken place here, what looked like the aftereffects of a fire or an explosion; the Old Hag must have tried to set Bunny on fire at some point. Jack huffed and finally moved forward, looking around for clues.

He shifted the rubble inside the remains of tunnel with the butt of his staff. It was possible that it ran deep, and Jack guessed it could have been an escape route for the Old Hag before it collapsed, but Jack had no way to dig out the debris. Besides, surely Bunny had tried that already? _He_ was the one with the magical tunnels.

Jack searched the walls, pushing and knocking, searching for a hidden door, a passageway that would lead elsewhere. He found nothing.

He opened the cupboards, dreading to see a collection of skulls and bones, broken dolls, trophies of children long gone —there were simply dusty pots and cutlery which, after the initial moment of relief passed, nearly made him gag.

He kneeled and dag around the hearth’s ash with one hand, the other still holding onto his staff, feeling for any sort of object or trapdoor hidden there. There were only cinders and coal and half-burnt wood.

Jack straightened up, his whole front covered in soot. And wouldn’t that make a good Halloween costume, like Bunny’s? He could be a _chimney sweep_. He was certainly thin enough to fit the bill. He could use tree branches to disguise his staff as a brush and fly up and down like in a–

Jack found that the thought offered him no joy. Normally he would be thrilled at the prospect of dressing up and playing pretend. The idea had popped up automatically in his head, yet the only thing he felt was a burning sensation in deep in his chest.

Jack took a deep, steading breath, mentally shaking himself. He looked around one last time. No sign of the Old Hag here.

She probably wasn’t around. Hadn’t Bunny said that if Jack began feeling increasingly tired, it would mean the Old Hag was close and draining him? He had spent several minutes in her hideout, and he was simply just as tired and jittery as when he first set out from Bunny’s island. Nothing worse. So…

…However, _how_ close did he have to get for her to start draining him? A few metres? Did they need to be standing next to each other? Did she have to be physically touching him?

Was it something that happened automatically whenever a child passed near her, or was it a conscious decision on her part? Did she have to _know_ the child was around for it to happen?

He should probably have asked Bunny for more info.

Jack exhaled forcefully in frustration.

Well, if she was hiding in here she would have attacked him already, so there’s that. She wasn’t here.

He flew out of the depressing cave in a gust of wind; the weak sunlight that greeted him provided unexpected reprieve. He blinked and smiled as he stared at the serene mountains, distant peaks covered in white. It made it easier to keep calm, to take deep breaths. To focus on the task ahead.

_Finding Old Hag._

There was _no_ chance Jack could track her down, he was sure of that. Bunny had tried and failed, and Bunny had an amazing sense of smell and the ability to create tunnels. If she had simply run away or traveled along a cave system Bunny would have found her; Jack was certain. She must have some way of disguising her passage or something.

Thankfully, there was _something_ that _he, Jack,_ could do that Bunny would _never_ be able to.

He just needed a very rough lead.

Jack shot into the air and perched on a scruffy tree top a few hundred meters away from the cave entrance, finally allowing himself a few much-needed moments of respite as he mulled over his options.

…Well, if he was an immortal, non-satiable, child-eating, ultra-powerful monstrosity, where would he be?

Jack groaned and leaned backwards, squeezing his eyes shut. Several muscles ached in protest.

…The Old Hag would be heading for a human population, that was for sure. Probably the larger, the better, too. No scruples. Why hold back and prey on children periodically when she could go all out? Besides, large cities provided better cover. Anonymity. Another face among thousands.

“…Although her face stands out from miles away,” Jack murmured to himself. Was that the reason why she lived in such a desolate place up until now? Probably. People must have chased her away from their villages.

Jack opened his eyes just the tiniest bit, letting a little of that soft, beautiful light seep through. He forced himself to take another deep breath.

One option would be to follow a river. Rivers always led to lakes or the sea, and big cities were founded along the way. The Old Hag would know that, right? What sort of predator doesn’t know its prey?

It would be easier for her to follow that path, too, in comparison to… to heading for random tiny villages dotting the mountain slopes, for example. She would definitely know where the nearest river was, while it would take the ability to fly like Jack to locate the various villages perched on unlikely places. And she couldn’t fly.

…Right?

The heartbeat quickened inside Jack’s chest as he mulled over that idea.

“…Nah,” he said aloud, voice shaking just a little bit. “That’s crazy.”

He didn’t want to say aloud that he had absolutely no clue; that he didn’t know anything about the child-eating woman. He simply couldn’t bear the thought of the Old Hag being able to fly after him across continents and oceans.

He _really_ should have asked Bunny for more info.

Well, not that it mattered particularly at this point. From the very moment Bunny said he had been unable to track the Old Hag Jack knew exactly what he had to do and exactly how to go about it.

All he needed was a very rough lead, which he now hopefully had?

Jack sat up abruptly on his tree. He turned his gaze towards the valley, where a shimmering river was barely visible curling around the mountain foot and stretching away into the distance.

It looked serene and beautiful. In another time, he would have headed for it gladly, thinking of the promises it held; of the people travelling along it, working, of children playing, of waterfowls making a racket and of debris getting carried in the current, strange objects from faraway places; all awaiting for him to discover them, to play with them, every single thing a chance for games and laughter.

He was now thinking of the latest addition to the river’s dwellers: a starving, grotesque old woman, mixing with the unsuspecting regular people.

Jack steeled himself and jumped from the tree top, catching a breeze on his way down. A few snowflakes fluttered in the edge of his vision, the wind tickling his face pleasantly.

…Soon after, the sky started to darken significantly as heavy clouds gradually formed high above him; sprinkling the land with bright speckles, marking it with unnaturally late patches of white.

Jack’s mind flew briefly to Bunnymund and his affinity for investigating snowy damage; however, he _didn’t_ want Bunny involved in this. Τhe whole thing had been Jack’s fault, and the Easter spirit had already gotten injured trying to fix it, anyway: it wasn’t as if he would magically become more competent at beating the Old Hag all of a sudden. Jack honestly hoped Bunny wouldn’t even think to meddle in this. It wouldn’t be fair.

…Same as it wouldn’t be fair if Jack had sat on his butt back in Bunny’s island, to ‘recover’. It had been such a hideous concept, an unbelievably, unbearably ugly idea that the instigator of this whole mess would lie down and do nothing while countless blameless children were–

Jack still couldn’t believe that Bunny had proposed that; that Bunny had expected him to go along with it.

It was simply, absolutely absurd.

Jack sped up on a stronger gust of wind, rapidly flying away from the Old Hag’s cave, the grey clouds following his trail from above —marking the sky above him with darkness, the ground below him with a blanket of snow.

He flew quickly in a circle around Old Hag’s mountain once, twice, before finally turning towards the river.

He shot straight at it, crossing the huge distance in minutes, and lowered himself so that his toes were only a meter or so above the glimmering waves. Jack began flying along the river’s winding curls, the wind steading him and carrying him effortlessly.

The deep grey clouds were dutifully trailing above him along the whole way.

* * *

 

Jack passed above a gentle slope covered with trees. They got dusted with snow as he left them behind.

He crossed a rather large village very slowly, looking around nervously. There were people milling peacefully around, going about their business. No screams, no signs of distress. Jack decided to proceed.

He was met with a few rolling, grassy hills. A couple of dogs were chasing each other, playing, until they sensed him flying by. Intrigued, they went after him, following him on the shore but not daring to enter the currently freezing waters, resorting to barking and whacking their tails. Jack smiled mechanically. He suddenly got a muted urge, tearing his chest only the littlest bit, to stop what he was doing and play with the dogs instead.

He crossed a large, desolate lake, doted only with a few fishermen sailing across the glimmering waters, complaining about the suddenly glum weather. Jack paused only long enough to throw a snowball to the face of one of the men —sparking what he suspected would be a half-snowball, half-fish-in-face fight. His heart was oddly not into it, and his right arm, stiff under the bandages, twanged in pain with the abrupt throwing movement. Jack sped on his way.

There were a few pieces of ice floating along the river. Jack played hopscotch for a few minutes, jumping from fragment to fragment without using the wind, to pass the time. He realized there was a heavy weight lodged in his heart, making it ache dully; making it harder to breathe. Jack found himself wishing for lightness; for a joyful respite of some sort. It seemed strangely just out of reach: he was _playing_ but it wasn’t _helping_. Jack didn’t understand– he was well on his way to find the Old Hag. He was going at a fast, steady pace. The fun stuff that he did on the side didn’t hinder the process —so why didn’t they make him feel any better?

Doing his best to take deep breaths, Jack stubbornly continued to play his dull game of hopscotch. He stopped when the water got rougher and the floating pieces started colliding violently with each other.

He flew through an extremely steep and narrow gorge. The wind was forced to rush through with more speed, which proved more difficult for Jack to ride in his current state. He felt relieved when he finally got out of the gorge and was able to slow down to a more manageable speed. Jack considered pausing his journey and resting on a tree just long enough to catch his breath.

… _He was_ _panting._

Jack stopped moving altogether. Very slowly, he turned his head just a little bit, scanning his surroundings.

High and steep gorge walls behind him. Sparse trees all around. Glimmering water below.

No sign of movement anywhere.

Yet Jack’s every breath was catching painfully in his chest. While he was _even_ _resting:_ with a start, he realized he had landed on a branch without noticing _._ In fact, he was tempted to lie down for a quick nap.

Jack jumped (with considerable effort) from the tree **,** caught the breeze and started to follow the river again; this time he maintained a height of a dozen meters above the ground as he flew. His eyes kept scanning the ground below him for anything suspicious.

Nothing appeared to be out of place.

Jack’s gaze trailed to the river itself; clean and deep water glimmering serenely in the sunlight…

…its depths dark and unknown.

Jack bit his lower lip nervously in thought. The river was a… possibility.

Since Bunny had transported him to an island for safe recovery, Jack had assumed that the Old Hag should not be able to swim long distances. In hindsight, it was a foolish assumption; Bunny had probably just transported him really far away.

He didn’t know anything about Old Hag. He still didn’t know if she could somehow fly, if she had absorbed his powers–

Jack spun around so abruptly he almost fell; yet the skies were empty and devoid of anything except him.

Taking deep breaths that could neither really relieve his aching chest nor quell his breathlessness, Jack resumed his trail along the river (it’s not that _he_ had any powers, anyway, it was all the staff —so the skies should be safe). Curiosity got the better of him and for a moment he considered flying lower to try to peer into the water; then his imagination had a field trip and images of the Old Hag jumping like a gigantic grasshopper straight at him popped in his head. Bunny had told him she had become freakishly strong.

Jack remained at a safe height.

He tried to keep his gaze trained on the landscape before him —still sparse trees— to stay focused. His eyes repeatedly darted towards the ground below, studying every shadow, every shape. He could hear his heartbeat drumming between his ears; combined with his strained breaths to form a distressing cacophony.

It was a couple of hours later when Jack, still following the river, found himself seriously considering looking for a safe place to hide and sleep for a while; his head was _so heavy…_ He blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and realized that in his exhaustion he had been flying lower and lower; currently only three meters above the water.

With a furious exhale of frozen breath, Jack regained height in time to see a clearing not far from the river.

 _Finally_. Clear ground. He shot through the air, heading straight for it.

Jack would have thought that what he did next would be one of the hardest decisions in his life; yet he didn’t feel anything at all as he lowered himself until his feet touched the soft, snowy ground.

He didn’t waste any time to wait and see if anything would happen. He spoke loudly and clearly.

“I _know_ you’re here,” Jack cried in between short breaths. “Come out!”

The edge of the surrounding forest remained still and silent in response.

Jack exhaled in frustration. His grip on his staff was so tight; he thought distantly that he risked breaking it.

“If you don’t show yourself, I’ll fly away right now!” he yelled. “I’ll fly away so fast and so high you’ll never be able to track me down, and I’ll _never_ land again!”

Jack’s eyes widened; his insides seemed to freeze solid, he felt unable to take another breath as he saw a shadow moving through the trees–

The sound of a branch snapping–

A dried, bare bush shaking as something brushed by it–

—how out of it must he have been this whole time?! She wasn’t moving stealthily at all! He should have noticed these signs of her passage while airborne—

–someone emerged from the woods and started walking towards him at a steady pace.

Jack immediately tightened the grip on his staff, holding it in front him like a barrier. Adrenaline made him hyper-focus on the approaching figure, the rest of the world turning into a haze; yet he couldn’t identify them– they weren’t the Old Hag, they were way too plump. Who–

His breathing returned in the form of a shaky, unstable intake of air when he took in the face; _her_ terrible, grotesque face; a black mouth full of rotting teeth, malicious eyes trained on him with a mocking glint.

Jack didn’t need enlightenment on how exactly she had grown so fat. He didn’t need to ponder on how she had found enough sustenance to turn from a skeletal figure into a flabby, sweaty creature.

He wanted to vomit.

In a single move, he whirled his staff to point at the approaching Old Hag. She was twenty meters away now, and Jack felt moderately confident that he’d be able to dodge if she made a lunge for him, but he didn’t want her any closer.

…The Old Hag kept walking straight at him, undeterred by the weapon pointed at her face.

“Stop right where you are!” Jack yelled; his hands were shaking with stress and exhaustion. She was only ten meters away now.

“I said _STOP!”_ he screamed again.

Five meters.

Jack soared in the air in a single gust of wind.

“I’ll _leave_ and you’ll never find me again!”

The Old Hag ceased marching forward.

Breath hurried, Jack landed again, a good dozen meters away from her.

They stared at each other for a few moments; Jack trebling slightly, the Old Hag staring at him intently —there was a glint in her eye that Jack didn’t like at all.

She opened her mouth and Jack nearly recoiled at the full sight of her teeth.

“I am _so_ happy to see you again, my goose!” the Old Hag crooned in a fake tender voice. “Let me come a little bit closer, I want to hug you.”

“Stay where you are!” Jack yelled, panting heavily. Thankfully, she didn’t object, but she tut-tut-ed reproachfully.

“Jackie boy, you’ve overexerted yourself. You didn’t need to do the thing with the clouds and snow you know, I could smell you from a mile away. I would have found you anyway, you didn’t need to spent yourself so.”

Jack took several deep breaths, delaying the question burning in his throat.

Yet he had to know.

“…Did you harm any children, after me?”

The Old Hag stared. For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Jack was almost grateful of the delay, even if the wait was killing him. He dreaded the answer, more than anything else.

A wide, horrible smile slowly appeared on the Old Hag’s nightmarish face.

“Oh, Jack,” she crooned, taking a single step forward. Jack automatically took a step back. “You didn’t tell me you were _jealous.”_

“What?” Jack said, distracted and confused. Another step forward for the Old Hag, another step backwards for Jack.

“I didn’t know you’d want all the attention for yourself,” she went on sweetly. “You don’t have to worry my goose, you’ll always be my favorite.”

The last sentence sent a chill down his spine that was impossible to ignore. “How many children did you kill?!” Jack yelled, voice trembling. His knees felt weak. He had to speed this up.

“Now, don’t be like that, my goose–”

“ _How many? I need to know!_ ” Jack’s vision blurred without warning and he hastened to wipe his eyes. He needed clear sight for this. “…What were their names…?!” he cried; he was sure the anguish he felt was bleeding into his voice, impossible to conceal.

The Old Hag didn’t seem to pay it any heed.

“Quit being difficult, Jackie boy. Once you find someone who treats you gently, you want all the attention for yourself. That is very selfish.”

Jack breathed heavily, now leaning a bit on his staff. He wanted to know, he _had_ to know–

“Now, how about you come with me?” the Old Hag went on, unfazed. “A nice nap will calm you down, and then we can go for lunch?”

Jack stared at her, openmouthed —her suggestion temporarily startling him out of his misery.

“I… honestly cannot tell if you are serious or not,” he gasped between carefully controlled breaths.

“I’m perfectly serious my goose, why wouldn’t I be?” she smiled; her eyes gleamed with something cruel.

“I mean… I can’t tell if you actually expect me to… to happily follow you or if you’re just saying that because you enjoy… being creepy,” the boy wheezed.

The Old Hag started cackling. Jack thought it was the ugliest sound he had ever heard.

“And why wouldn’t you want to follow me?” she challenged. “Where else do you have to go?”

“Literally _anywhere else!”_ Jack snapped.

“And _yet,_ _here you are,”_ the retort cut him deep. “Who else would want to take you with them?”

Jack didn’t have a reply for that. It felt to him that the silence that followed was swallowing him whole; like a beast worse than the Old Hag.

He wanted to say that being alone was better than _that_ kind of company _._ He _knew_ that.

He just didn’t seem to have the ability to say it out loud at the moment.

The Old Hag took another step forward. “Who else wants you as much as _I_ want you? Who else will you find to treat you kindly? After a couple of hundred years of searching, I’d say it’s safe to assume there’s no one.”

Jack took a step back.

This banter was pointless. The Old Hag wouldn’t answer the one question that mattered to Jack; she _knew_ he cared, she _knew_ he needed to know, she _knew_ he felt guilty; yet she wouldn’t reply. She would leave him to stew in uncertainty and guilt; his own imagination would be a worse punishment than any number.

There was nothing else to say.

Jack fired a blast of ice at her face.

The Old Hag didn’t attempt to dodge. She simply raised a hand just in time to cover her head.

It froze solid; Jack noted with satisfaction that the ice covered her whole arm up to the elbow in a thick shell.

His satisfaction was replaced with alarm as the Old Hag stared at her frozen hand with some form of detached curiosity, like an old lady reading an odd but immaterial headline on the newspaper.

“…That is… bold of you, Jackie boy,” she said with a pleasantly distant voice, yet there was an almost insubstantial biting quality to it. Almost. “An actual _Guardian_ tried to take me down just a few days ago, you know. What makes you think you can succeed where the great Easter Bunny has failed?”

Jack scoffed, shifting the grip on his staff. “Unless you are allergic to chocolate, I don’t see how his talents would prove to be a threat to you.”

The Old Hag burst into cackling laughter.

“Oh, my goose, we see eye-to-eye about–”

Jack fired again.

The monstrous woman’s head was encased in thick ice; covering it completely and distorting her features. Jack was sure it got into her mouth, too. She wouldn’t be able to see anything through it, maybe her eyes would even be damaged permanently. Jack stared as she stumbled once, backwards, ready to topple–

Her footing steadied. There was a heart-wrenching _crack,_ resonating in the cold air like a gunshot; Jack’s heart sank as he saw miniature fissures appear in the ice that sealed her hand.

Before he could act, before he could fire again, the ice burst into a myriad pieces that glittered momentarily in the light.

Her head still encased and unseeing, the Old Hag raised her hand and flexed the _little finger_ of her recently freed palm in a mocking fashion.

All air seemed to have left Jack’s lungs. He could only stare, feeling bitter despair swallowing him whole, as cracks now appeared all around the ice covering the Old Hag’s jaw. For a single moment nothing happened; then, lightning-fast, the ice that he had conjured to seal her head exploded into countless harmless shards.

The Old Hag spat out a large chunk and shook her head, dislodging the few remaining pieces, before she raised a clawed hand to rub at her jaw absentmindedly, opening and closing it a few times as if she had simply yawned too hard.

 _She had just opened her mouth,_ Jack realized with dawning horror. _It was strong enough to break the ice._

The Old Hag turned to face Jack; her cruel eyes focused on his terrified ones. Tiny sunken pupils, more filled with malice than ever, stared right at him, and they were full of unspoken promises of pain to come.

“Now, am I getting this right,” she said sweetly, as if he hadn’t done anything worse than throw a couple of snowballs at her, “did you use yourself as a _literal bait?_ Can I just tell you how _deliciously adorable_ that is?”

Jack clutched at his head with both hands. “AUGH! _CUT THAT OUT!_ ” he screamed.

The Old Hag lunged at him.

It was purely 250 years-long experience of flight stunts that allowed Jack to dodge; he soared into the air instinctively and landed a good few meters behind her.

Bunny was right; she was _very_ fast.

The Old Hag turned towards him, and there was malicious triumph written all over her face. She was smiling, as if her miss was completely insignificant.

“Maybe I didn’t have time to kill another child. Is _this_ what you hoped to hear, Jackie boy?” she purred as Jack swallowed painfully. “That maybe you arrived on time? _Maybe_. Or maybe I _killed_ _a bunch_ ,” the Old Hag said, savoring the expression every single one of her words caused on his face. “Maybe they _begged_ and _cried_ as they watched me devour _each and every one of them_. Maybe they _cursed_ at whatever uncaring power was responsible for my arrival among them.”

A sob tore out of Jack’s chest, and it was at this moment when the Old Hag attacked.

This once Jack didn’t manage to evade her properly. He summersaulted on the air but the tips of her long nails scratched at his stomach.

He soared on the wind in a daze, feeling strangely detached from his body. It hurt, his limbs felt leaden with exhaustion, and he could see red mixing with the soot on his shirt, but it was all as if it was happening to someone else. He could see with perfect clarity the Old Hag staring at him from below, he could take in her stance and the slow clenching of bloodied fingers.

_She’s lying._

_She’s lying. She’s lying._

The sentence kept repeating frantically inside Jack’s head, and it was a short while before he became aware of it.

_She’s lying, she’s lying._

_Please_ let her be lying.

She enjoyed seeing him suffer, she _could_ be lying, _she’s lying_ , Jack thought desperately to distract himself from another thought tearing at his heart: the thought that it had taken him more than a day to find her, and who-knows for how long he had slept carelessly at Bunny’s island before that? There was no way he had arrived on time, _what need did she have of lying?_

The thought unbearable, Jack shook his head, tired fingers tightening around his staff as his resolution strengthened. He had to focus on the present. He couldn’t fail _now._

Jack rose higher, glaring at the Old Hag all the while.

He wasn’t about to give up yet; he wasn’t _nearly_ anywhere close to giving up yet. So freezing her solid did not work — _big deal!_ There must be _hundreds_ of other ways to incapacitate her, trap her, _stop her,_ somehow, Jack had simply to test and improvise —and he was great at _both._

He _was_ going to figure something out, Jack realized; he had all eternity to do so. The Old Hag would be forever following him, and Jack was perfectly willing to circle the globe for a million lifetimes with her at his heels until he figured a way to get rid of her for good, or at least until he wore her out enough for someone else to defeat her– And if he failed in _that_ and she caught him _,_ she’d probably hide better this time — _no one would ever find them_ , no one would endanger their life in an attempt to help, nor interfere and make things worse— and hopefully the Old Hag wouldn’t grow bored of him and wouldn’t attack another child for a _very_ long time, while he’d spend most of that time asleep; _that wasn’t so bad…_ Either way, not another unsuspecting, blameless person would pay for _his_ mistakes; just him against the Old Hag now, whoever got the other one first.

It was just a game of tag, Jack realized with a smidge of relief —with his own life at stake.

Which _did_ sound a bit exciting, when he wasn’t thinking about the second part too much.

Besides, weren’t all the best games at least a bit dangerous?

Jack abruptly dove towards the monstrous woman, at full speed. Just as he passed right next to her, just as she began to raise her arms to grab him, he threw a snowball at her face —noting with satisfaction that it covered her ugly features, hiding them if only for a moment— and soared back up before she had time to react.

“Ta–”

“Tag, I’ll be _it_!” the Old Hag cried with relish before Jack could finish speaking. He turned to look back at her in shock; her expression was one of gleeful malice as she took in his obvious discomfort.

“…Why did _you_ say _that_?!” Jack scowled, affronted at having the everything-is-a-game thing used _at him_.

The Old Hag just smiled, jogging to position herself directly beneath him as he began flying backwards.

“My sweet little bait, don’t you want to play instead of being all serious and bait-like? I’m only thinking _of you._ ”

Jack gulped as he turned around and flied off on a strong gust of wind —fast enough to force her to run, not fast enough that she’d lose him.

 _…He_ ’d treat his life-or-death situations as games to take his mind _off_ the unpleasantness, but the Old Hag doing the same… It was far too disturbing to bear thinking about; it meant she found joy in the part of the game that was _never supposed to be enjoyed by anyone_.

It meant she would enjoy–

Jack shook his head fervently. He just had to focus on the game. He knew how to go about this. It was his territory. The supposedly important Easter Bunny, despite his intimidating looks and boomerangs, was hardly anything more than a glorified pastry chef; he spent his time hiding in tunnels and _running,_ for Heaven’s sake, it was no wonder he hadn’t managed to defeat the Old Hag. Jack, however, had the raw power of the wind and ice at his command, and 250 years of experience in getting in all sorts of trouble and surviving by himself.

 _Surely he could rub some of that trouble off on the Old Hag_.

Jack pushed aside the thought that _he_ _was a child_ and thus he risked sabotaging himself if he didn’t manage to maintain a safe distance at all times and ended up getting drained. He’d simply have to be careful of that —it wasn’t like he was _some little kid_! He _technically_ looked like a teenager but he was actually 250 years old. He was Jack Frost, a spirit of winter. It was going to be fine.

“ _I’m going to be fine,_ ” Jack whispered insistently, and when he repeated it enough times he started to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another slow chapter. I hope the next one will be better!
> 
> Whoa, it took much longer to update than I originally planned. The ending got much bigger than I thought, split in 3 chapters, and I didn't want to upload this one before I had a good head start for the last two. Thanks to everyone who came back after the wait! (Uh, there is a good chance of the final two chapters being late as well).


	9. The one with the really big snowball

The first thing Jack tried —and he already knew it wasn’t going to be enough, but it _could_ be mightily helpful— was _a blizzard._

Jack’s snow days were usually gentle, lively and effortless. He could form blizzards, but it wasn’t a fun process. It presupposed either that he was distraught, or that he _really_ pushed himself.

Currently, Jack was calling on all the anguish he felt to turn the clouds above them almost black, to trade the fun flurries of snow with frozen needles, and to switch the whimsical breezes for a howling gale that would freezing anything solid.

Unfortunately, the Old Hag wasn’t just anything. Despite everything that Jack threw at her —the wind billowing against her, slowing her down, the icy snowflakes that would graze the skin of any normal person like sandpaper— the Old Hag marched on steadily towards him; albeit with a bit of difficulty.

Jack bit his lip, observing her as he slowly backed away. He hadn’t thought for a minute that a blizzard would stop her, but he hoped it would wear her out some. Provided she didn’t replace the energy she lost with his own, of course. Jack flew a bit higher at that thought; he _knew_ she had been draining him before, down the river, but he didn’t know how close she had followed. He stopped when the Old Hag turned into a tiny spot amidst the frantic flurry of snow; _now_ it definitely seemed like a safe distance.

Satisfied, he pressed on, flying towards the nearest mountain.

After a while, he could see a snowy peak looming gradually closer and closer. This was _great_ , the slope looked pretty steep. If he was lucky, this would end very soon.

Turning his head to check that the Old Hag was still dutifully following him, Jack nearly fell off the air in surprise when he spotted her standing motionless among the heavy snowfall. The snow had, in fact, begun to cover her head and shoulders; she seemed rooted on the spot.

Jack’s heart fluttered with tentative hope. Could it be… could it be that the cold was too much for her already? Was she going to collapse and let him bury her with several metres of snow? Was she going to freeze solid?

His breath caught when he saw her turn the other way and slowly start walking away from Jack.

…Was she _giving up?!_

Jack stared, jaw dropped in disbelief. He hadn’t thought it would be _this easy!_

A tiny fleck of relief fluttered inside his heart. He wasn’t going to have to–

The smidge of relief was replaced by a shockwave of horror. _She was going away._ The plan had _never_ been for her to _go away!_

Jack gritted his teeth, letting up on the snowfall a bit and zooming towards her. He passed by her lightning-fast but tantalizingly close, like shiny keys dangling in front of a baby.

“Aw, resigning already?” he shouted as he rose back up in the air. “I know toddlers who won’t accept defeat as easily as you!”

_Come and get me…_

When he resumed his previous position, the breath was catching in his chest _just a bit_ more.

No matter. Jack turned around to make sure the monstrous woman had taken the bait.

He was crestfallen to discover she was just standing there, staring up at him as if she was contemplating whether he was worth the effort.

Jack flew lower as if to make himself more visible throughout the snowfall, feeling extremely dismayed. Bunny had said there was no chance she’d let him go if they met again, why was she giving up now?! How much more tempting did he have to become? He couldn’t keep flying in front of her face, she’d drain him faster than you could say ‘season defying snowfall’!

Just as he contemplated attacking her right there and then, the Old Hag resumed walking towards him.

“OK,” Jack breathed in relief. “Alright. Here you come,” then louder: “Took you long enough! _You won’t win any races with that attitude, you know!_ Now, _catch me if you can!_ ” He resumed flying towards the much-anticipated mountain peak. Not much longer now. He just had to hold on a bit longer.

Once more the Old Hag got hesitant, just as she started climbing the now snow-covered slope. Was she suspecting something, or was it getting too much for her?

It didn’t matter at this point. Jack flew a few times around her, coming gradually closer before once again getting further away, taunting her all along. He gave the whole slope a _very_ good dusting in the process, which was the main point.

When he started to fly upwards, to the very peak itself, the Old Hag followed. She was probably too spurned by his repeated jeers to stop, despite the terrain’s increased harshness.

She kept coming towards him, even when Jack landed on a heavily snowed outcrop on the top of an extremely steep slope.

Jack sat on his heels, watching as she jogged up the incline with ease. He held his breath, almost counting the monstrous woman’s footsteps as she came closer… closer…. _closer…_

_Now._

Jack raised the butt of his staff high. His gaze slid over the Old Hag’s face and their eyes met for a single moment.

Then he brought his staff down hard with an angry yell and a blast of wind comparable to the icy gales that haunted Antarctica.

At first, nothing happened, except that the Old Hag almost fell on her butt.

Then, the mountain groaned. The packed snow before Jack cracked and shifted, collapsing in on itself and tumbling down the slope.

Jack watched as the amount of collapsing snow multiplied in the blink of an eye, each and every handful triggering the fall of _so many more,_ and very soon before Jack’s eyes the whole slope was dropping away; at first slowly, then rushing down with a mighty rumble and a huge cloud of snow dust.

Jack jumped in the air and flew down, following the unruly rush of his element to submit to gravity. He conjured more ice and wind as he went, pouring his all to increase the magnitude of the collapse.

Avalanche. It had been one of first wide-spread destructions he had ever brought about when he was still unfamiliar with his powers, and it hadn’t taken long for Jack to figure out what caused them. It took longer to learn to control his powers to the extent that he could avoid them. Triggering them, thought? Triggering them was easy-peasy.

And no one survived getting buried beneath a few tones of snow.

Jack watched as the avalanche rushed down, clearing the ground like a gigantic eraser. It tore down trees, it dragged boulders, it seized and held any unlucky animals forever in an icy grip. It took _everything._

When the snow settled and the frozen particles cleared from the sky, Jack was left facing a blank slate.

It was a uniform, white canvas; a spotless expanse of endless snow. Nothing stood out, nothing existed on the surface.

The avalanche had consumed everything.

Jack sat back on his heels, panting with exertion as he observed the new, reformed landscape.

 _Nothing_ was moving.

He relaxed a little, breathing becoming a bit easier. He let the snowfall cease. The icy gale reverted to a soft breeze.

The scenery gradually turned into a peaceful, freshly dusted slope as Jack watched. He slouched where he sat, letting his head drop forward and his hunched shoulders slump down.

The avalanche had been his best shot, and Jack was _extremely glad_ it had worked.

Well, the snow would eventually melt, revealing… _everything_ it currently held, but that was manageable. Jack could visit this place at intervals, he could make sure it all stayed buried for a long while.

For _as long as she had been feeding on him_ , that sounded like a good estimation. Then she’d emerge weakened and thin, and the briefly mighty Old Hag would have to resort to making children sneeze again.

Jack grinned.

His grin faltered, uncertain, when he caught a glimpse of movement.

The frost spirit could only stare with growing horror as the snow at the bottom of the slope shifted. Chunks of the white material fell aside as a grotesque hand emerged, followed by the ugliest head Jack had ever seen. The hand braced itself on the packed snow, and the rest of the Old Hag appeared, pulling herself out of the ice as if she was simply climbing out of a swimming pool.

She tossed some of the snow off her hair and out of her clothes.

Then the Old Hag turned to look at Jack. She wasn’t far, and Jack could discern the expression on her face clearly.

She looked extremely pissed off.

Jack was shooting off into the air before he could even realize it. He found himself flying higher and higher, further and further away, reaching uselessly for safety — _he would pay for this, he knew it from her expression that she would make him pay for this somehow_ — eyes wide and unseeing, throat tight, a hand of terror clenching his heart, squeezing the breath out of his chest.

It was a while before he managed to get himself in check, stopped his frenzied flight, and turned around to look at the Old Hag.

She was still pursuing him relentlessly, with just as much —if not _more_ — vigor. She looked completely and utterly unhindered by her brief burial beneath several tones of snow.

Crestfallen, Jack turned around once again, flying off with a powerful gust of wind, snowflakes falling all around him in trembling, unsteady paths. He struggled to gather his wits, to reassure himself, to think of another way to incapacitate her.

_The avalanche had been his best shot._

…What was he going to do now…?

Jack bit his lip, debating between conjuring another blizzard and refraining from spending himself so. It had seemed to be completely useless in hampering her process, but then again, what else could he do?

…Maybe he could try to make her slip on ice. If he froze a lake and forced her on it… Would she manage to keep her balance? But what would he achieve by having her flail around the ice, anyway? Jack doubted he would even be successful if he tried to seal her beneath a frozen lake, he had the feeling she would just break through.

Maybe he could trick her to slip from a cliff or something? Maybe if he found a high enough precipice, he could cover the edge with ice… Disguise it with snow all over the place, and lead her right off it. Maybe she would end up with a broken leg or two.

Maybe. That is, if she somehow failed to notice the gaping chasm.

That seemed extremely unlikely to Jack, but then again, what did he have to lose if he tried? He had the advantage of a high viewpoint; he could spot places that were likely to become good traps from _miles_ away and act accordingly. He could use this.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a sharp, piercing pain in his until-now uninjured forearm.

Jack gasped, clutching at the appendix and careening wildly to the side. He struggled to right himself, expecting to be carrying extra weight; expecting the Old Hag to have jumped impossibly high and to be currently hanging from him, weighting him down–

He was by himself up in the air. There was nothing strange about his arm —except maybe a few small pieces of ice littering his shirt around the hurt spot, like the shards of a hailstone.

Jack brushed them off uncertainly, with slow, lingering motions.

…He…. had _not_ created a hailstorm.

Where did the shards come from?

The answer came seconds later, in the form of a small, bullet-like ball of solid ice that got nailed straight into his shin, throwing him off course and forcing a startled yelp out of his throat.

Jack shook his leg and the remains of the shattered ice ball fell easily off, thankfully not having pierced him —although he was sure the skin beneath the trousers must be bruised.

Another bullet of ice flew an inch past his face, whistling ominously as it passed by. Jack stared, open mouthed, as its momentum carried it far from him before it started falling; then it was lost from sight.

It had come from below.

Jack didn’t need another hint to know the origin of these icy projectiles.

He abruptly jerked to the side to avoid getting hit in the stomach by a particularly fast one, and then began jumping around blindly, expecting more to come at him.

He was not wrong.

Jack was forced to soar upwards to get out of the way of the tiny frozen bullets that the Old Hag threw at him. He could dimly discern her on the ground, bending down to scoop up handfuls of snow, _squeeze_ them in her meaty hands until they became tiny, compact balls, and _hurl_ them at him with inhuman force and precision.

She put the stone troll’s aim to shame.

The icy balls were so small that even the wind could not affect their path. While they did not draw blood, they were _still_ very painful, and Jack had the unpleasant notion that one hit from those things on his head would knock him out. His stomach churned in dread.

Even as he turned back around to fly away as fast as he could, to get out of the projectiles’ range, Jack knew what he was forced to do.

He knew which decision _the Old Hag_ was forcing him to make:

Jack had to resort to facing her without any more snow.

If he covered the ground with his element, the Old Hag would turn it against him. Whatever he did, whatever he tried, he could not use snow. It wasn’t that she _needed_ it as ammo —she could have easily thrown stones instead— it was just that she _wanted_ to make sure that _he_ would not use it.

An enforced rule to their game.

No more avalanches. No more protective curtain of snow; unless maybe he conjured it at the last possible moment.

It was his only weapon, and he could not use it.

Jack gritted his teeth.

“Not important! It’s not important!” he growled to the wind. He’d find another way.

Another way.

Some other way.

“ _Think_ Jack, _think…_ ”

The winter spirit blinked in surprise as the air suddenly cleared; he had finally emerged out of the snow-cloud, and was flying over green, uncovered ground. He sighed in relief as the projectiles’ danger passed, and turned to make sure the Old Hag was following dutifully behind him.

She was not.

Jack let out an exclamation of frustration as he made himself fly back towards the monstrous woman. She had turned away once more, _walking_ _away_ on the grass, as if she had simply grown bored of their game.

_This is not how it’s supposed to go!!_

How much more did he have to give her?! How much more did he have to provoke her?!

Jack zoomed a few metres above her, calling forth a wind that made her stumble. He pushed and pulled at her, the gusts of wind flowing around manically. He would _pull_ her after him if he had to, he would _not. Let her. Get. AWAY._

The Old Hag’s dirty, matted hair flew up her face. Her torn clothes flapped about noisily in the freezing wind. Pieces of grass, dust and tiny snowflakes all jumped madly around her. The Old Hag actually had to raise her arms to protect her face, to shield her eyes from the barrage of debris and icy air. Jack circled around her at what he hoped was a safe distance, contemplating on throwing her another snowball in the face, because she _was not following him_.

Would the snowball even be _annoying_ _enough?_

A sudden impulse overtook Jack, and he decided to risk it. During the few moments the Old Hag spent hunched over, rubbing the dust out of her eyes, Jack darted in.

A light touch of his staff on the ground made the monstrous woman slip on ice and lose her footing. She flailed, her legs comically running in place as she tried to stay upright. It was in that moment when Jack flew right behind her and shoved snow down the back of her clothes.

The strangled scream of outrage that followed probably resonated in the whole valley, and Jack decided it was _worth it._ Snickering, he flew out of range again just as she swiped at him with her clawed hands. She missed by a wide streak, and Jack thought his own laughter had drowned all other sounds—her scream, his own wildly beating heart, the whistling of the wind. It didn’t matter that there was a wheezing edge to his laugh; it didn’t matter that his limbs felt heavy; that his fingers had trouble holding onto the staff — _it was worth it._

Heartened, Jack flew on. This time, he _knew_ she would follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it turns out that what I thought would be a single final chapter became a huge amount of text, which I split in three chapters-and all together they turned out to be longer than every other chapter combined (what the heck, how could I have miscalculated so badly?) Soo... I can no longer predict how exactly I'm gonna split those. We'll see. Here's this part for now!


	10. The water temple one

It took two more back-turns; two more times rushing backwards to aggravate and provoke the Old Hag into following him, before Jack reached the shore. The ocean waves smashed against the rocky beach, the loud sound completely muffling his own haggard breathing.

He could not breathe enough to laugh any more.

He had to hold his staff with both hands now; otherwise it would definitely slip from his fingers in a moment of distraction.

A bone deep weariness had consumed him. His world swayed a little, out of accordance with the motions of the wind. He just wanted to _sleep_ , to rest his dizzy head on a steady surface; just for a little while.

Just for a little while.

Jack knew that was not an option.

He had said he was willing to spend a million lifetimes leading the Old Hag around the globe until he found a way to get rid of her, but now he began to realize that was not possible. He was getting tired. She was draining him.

Jack swallowed past the lump in his throat. He knew, now.

The Old Hag had been lagging behind on purpose.

She hadn’t been giving up; she hadn’t been getting bored. The Easter Bunny was right. The Old Hag was _not_ letting him go. She knew Jack wasn’t willing to leave any more children at her mercy; she knew he intended to find a way to stop her, no matter how long it took.

And she prolonged it in purpose.

The Old Hag had been tricking him; turning back every time he got too far, forcing him to backtrack; _forcing him to get within draining distance once more_. She was dragging the hunt on purpose, coercing him into slowing down and coming closer instead of flying ahead and looking for ways to trap her. She had tricked him into getting drained again and again _and again._

But the thing was, even now when the toll it was taking on Jack was clear, even now when the continuously diminishing chances of success were dawning on him, Jack still couldn’t do anything differently. He didn’t have any other choice.

As he stared at the endless expanse of water spreading before him, Jack tried to think past the ringing in his head about his next move. He felt extremely out of options.

He had been leading her throughout the land; out of the mountains and over endless green fields. There had been gentle slopes and slowly flowing rivers, crops and cows and sheep, but nothing he could use. Then the villages and cities dotting the countryside began getting a whole lot more frequent; Jack had to turn countless times to avoid them.

He couldn’t do anything, and now he had reached the shore.

The winter spirit’s eyes travelled over the waves.

The water.

The water was still an option.

He had thought that maybe the Old Hag had been following him by swimming in the river, before. Time to test out that theory, along with her swimming skills.

Jack hoped they were as lousy as her face.

He began to fly tentatively out above the water —slowly, invitingly at first; then in short, sporadic bursts of speed, letting himself drop a little at the end of each broken burst— he wanted to make it look like he was losing strength; as if his reserves were finally failing him and he had entered the air above the water in a last, desperate attempt to get away.

Jack didn’t look back to see if she was following. He didn’t want to draw this out anymore, he didn’t want her to have the luxury of stalling. She’d _have_ to follow him. She’d _have to._

He didn’t think he could withstand many more close encounters with the Old Hag.

Jack had flown a hundred metres out above the crashing waves when he felt like he _couldn’t stand the uncertainty anymore_. He had to _know_ whether or not he had been successful in tricking her into the water.

He span around, dizzy, to look for the Old Hag. The world kept spinning around him even after he stopped moving, and it was hard to focus, but he couldn’t spot the monstrous woman anywhere.

Not standing on the shore. Not walking away.

Not a head bobbing up and down on the surface.

His heart fluttered with weak hope, until he looked _down._

He had lowered himself significantly in his attempt to look weakened —he had gotten so low he could discern things swimming in the sea.

Fish glinting in the weak sunlight.

Some debris carried by the currents.

A large shape moving silently in the dark waters, swimming like a frog.

Towards him.

Even before Jack could discern the features, before he could pinpoint that _this_ was an arm and _that_ was a leg, before he could even estimate the size of the moving shape, he knew what he was looking at.

Then his brain caught up with his eyes and a shiver ran down his spine, because the thing was large and vaguely humanoid and it moved in an unsettling way below the surface, in a way that no human had ever swam.

Jack let out an exhausted sigh as he regained height. Just his luck, the Old Hag had no trouble following him across the sea; she could swim while submerged, she had swam after him down the whole length of that river —could she cross whole oceans as well?

And yet, as he flew higher and distanced himself from the Old Hag’s draining influence, Jack’s head and heart cleared a little.

All was not lost yet! He had managed to get her in the waves. _The sea was a whole new battlefield._

No matter how good a swimmer she was, swimming was much more tiring than walking. And whenever she paused she risked sinking down like a stone; she wouldn’t be able to stop and rest properly. Just like Jack flying.

_The field had just been evened out._

“You want to follow me around the globe?” Jack whispered, his tired eyes scanning over the surface for the familiar creepy figure. “You’re _welcome to try._ I can cross oceans in one go. Will you be able to do the same?”

Jack rose even higher, leading the Old Hag further and further away from the shore. The wind rose with him; the gentle sea breeze turned into a mighty gust that toppled the waves and shook the sea itself.

He realized that he had just gotten himself a new weapon: strong wind was much more destructive here than on land —and unlike the snow, it couldn’t be used against him. What would she do, throw the _air_ at him?

Jack snickered and flied off faster —not too fast for her to keep up with, but a steady, good pace that was easy for him to maintain. The fresh air actually roused him a bit and he found himself taking deep, proper breaths as he shot above the turbid waters. This was much better.

He squinted, looking down. He could just make out Old Hag’s figure; a dark, frog-like shape following him below the waves. She surfaced for a moment to breathe and stare at him and then she re-submerged.

Jack jutted his jaw forward in determination. _So be it_. He’d have to wait until they got far enough from the shore…

* * *

 

…and that was when Jack turned the strong gusts of wind into _a gale._

The sky above them turned dark and foreboding. The waves tripled and tripled again in size. They became small hills, rising and falling in the never-ending motion of a breathing chest.

And Jack could now see her figure struggling to keep up, struggling to swim against the wild, changing currents. The water carried her left and right, tearing her from her path and then throwing her at it again. The wind screeched and shrieked in Jack’s ears, deafening him. It sounded like nightmarish cries of anguish, but he didn’t mind. It kept him wide awake.

Jack didn’t know for how long they went on like this; him flying like an arrow and the Old Hag struggling below for once. Time seemed to stand still; every moment was similar to the next. Jack’s world turned into a repetition of waves rising, _rising_ , then _crashing_ against each other with a mighty thunder.

He found his eyes focusing on minutiae: the way the top of the waves got torn apart by the wind, separated into thin strings that flew away and dissolved in the air. He could see the white foam that formed where the waves had crashed; it bubbled violently and it put Jack in mind of a mouth, dribbling and frothing with sick anger. He shivered a bit.

There were seagulls blown wildly astray from the force his gale. Jack watched them tumble away, spinning as they went and barely managing to keep themselves airborne. He whispered an apology that got torn apart and blown away by the wind. He hoped he wouldn’t encounter any boats; a tempest of this caliber could easily prove to be lethal to seamen. Jack kept his eyes open for any wildly bobbing hull or mast —although eventually he started to tire, and soon it seemed like the shapes were losing their meaning. It was wave _after wave, after wave, after wave_ ; everything else melted away into the sea and clouds, and got lost forever in the darkness.

There were times when Jack’s gaze was drawn despite himself to the unfathomable deeps below. Inexplicably cold sweat drenched him as he stared at the abyss yawning below him; huge, endless black stretching wide to swallow him whole, and he would sink forever and never see the light of day again.

Jack felt dizzy; the world, the wind turned a bit unsteady and he wobbled uncertainly, struggling to tear his eyes away from the hungry maw beneath him.

The sea was dangerous, even to him, Jack forced himself to remember. There were mighty, hostile creatures living in the deep. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had angered one of them, although they _were_ notoriously… extensive in their attacks. A deadly attack on his person would result in a deadly attack on the Old Hag as well.

Jack breathed a little deeper. The dizziness began to pass. He felt a bit better. And this line of thought had given him an idea worth trying.

Jack’s gaze flitted towards the Old Hag’s silhouette, barely visible in the current state of the sea but still there. She had clearly enough trouble both keeping up and surfacing regularly enough to breathe.

The spirit of winter began to diverge from his path; he turned just slightly, so that the Old Hag wouldn’t notice the change. He headed for a new destination, for a faraway place that Jack knew well.

He had seen it only once, in 1726, and he wasn’t about to forget it any time soon. Seafarers avoided it. There was a reason for that.

Jack had been unlucky enough to watch a demonstration of said reason in that year, in the form of a large wooden boat toppling and vanishing beneath the waves. Soon afterwards, smashed bits of the ship floated on the surface, only to be dragged down again and lost forever.

Jack had created bits of ice for the drowning seamen to float on; yet they, along with the people, eventually sank in the water just the same.

The sight had firmly solidified Jack’s resolve to never set foot in water if he could help it.

Well, maybe now came a time when he wouldn’t be able to help it.

It was a several hours later when they started to approach the area the boy had in mind. Jack had started to have trouble keeping his eyes open; he only dimly realized they were nearing land. Then the sight of the thing sent waves of adrenaline shooting through his body, jostling him wide awake.

It always made a terrifying amount of noise, but from this distance it was still safely concealed by the screams of the wind. It would probably be invisible from the sea level too, but Jack, from his high vantage point, could see it clear as day and headed straight for it, a sense of dread spreading through his stomach.

He started lowering himself again; he had to pretend he was weakened. Would the same trick work twice? Would the Old Hag grow suspicious and keep her distance? When she got close enough the rumble would certainly alert her to the danger…

Jack gritted his teeth and decided that he just wouldn’t _give her a choice._ He would make it so, so easy to grab a hold of him that the Old Hag wouldn’t be able to resist…

…and he hoped it would work. He really didn’t feel like he had the energy to deal with another close encounter with the monstrous woman right now.

Especially _here._

The thing grew bigger and bigger as they approached. It seemed a bit inconspicuous for the untrained eye: it was just that the sea inside the pass was rough; or maybe it appeared as peculiar, accidental formations in the water; an unexpected pattern among the waves. Waves which, incidentally, were unusually large and behaved in strange ways…

At times, they seemed to rise up and down instead of sideways, like they were the beating heart of some colossal monster.

Jack had heard locals describe it simply as a horrifying whirlpool, but he wasn’t quite sure that there wasn’t anything more sinister lurking in the depths, and as he drew near, the roar of the waters put Jack in mind of the gurgling of a gigantic stomach.

He just hoped that it would have more of an appetite for monstrous old ladies than for frozen flying guys.

Jack glanced towards the Old Hag. They were nearing the strait, and she should be able to hear the rumble of the place now. She appeared apprehensive, keeping her head bobbing with difficulty along with the waves above the surface, trying to peer through the fine spray torn from the sea.

Jack was moderately confident that the Old Hag would have never encountered a whirlpool before. You could rarely find children around them.

Time to change that.

Jack dropped like a stone towards the water. He thought he heard the Old Hag gasp from far away, but that was probably just his imagination; or maybe his own short intake of breath.

He stopped just centimeters above the bulging sea, creating a small raft of ice beneath his person. He gingerly let himself sit cross-legged on it, clutching his staff tight with both hands. The sea moved wildly, but it was child’s play compared to the rougher games of the wind. Jack was very tense, ready to take flight at the slightest inkling that he was about to get dragged down or grabbed at, yet simultaneously his body _screamed_ with relief at finally being able to rest. Even if it was just a little. Even if it was on a tiny iceberg on one of the most perilous places of the seven seas with the Old Hag swimming closer and closer.

Jack kept his eyes open for her; he expected to see her ugly head rise among the waves, heading straight towards him.

Suddenly, a thought made Jack drench in sweat.

What if she came beneath him? What if she _was_ strong enough, after all, and swam beneath the waves, unheeding of any perilous presence haunting the place?

Jack gulped. He made to stand upright, but a sudden jerk and shudder of his icy little raft made him fall down on his butt again. He looked around wildly, gaze sweeping over waves and hollows, peering in the dark beneath the surface.

Then he spotted her.

The Old Hag swam towards him like a dog; paddling with her hands and barely keeping her head above the water.

It was at that exact moment that Jack’s surroundings began to spin.

His first thought was that he was finally passing out.

His next thought, as the image of the Old Hag swept past his eyes again and again, was that the whirlpool had finally got him.

In the next few moments it accelerated, to the point that Jack wasn’t sure _where_ the Old Hag was any more, and there was nothing left to it; no reason to risk it since she was probably _right there–_

Jack shot up in the air. He breathed a sigh of relief at finally being free of the maddening swirling, and looked down.

The Old Hag stared up at him, a look of incredulous anger distorting her face.

She span in wide circles beneath him, unable to combat the raging waves. Jack stayed there, floating nearly effortlessly above her. He knew the Old Hag might be strong enough to simply swim away, yet he wasn’t giving her that incentive. He was right _there._ And he wasn’t going anywhere else.

Jack watched as she span faster and faster, as the circles grew smaller, as her thrashing against the waves grew more frantic. He began to feel sick as he watched the process. The Old Hag didn’t look scared, she looked _angry…_ Yet Jack couldn’t help but feel disturbed. Would it actually be enough to… to _kill_ her? Would whatever monstrous entity inhabiting the sea…

… _get her?_

_Would she die desperate, in absolute darkness?_

…That was a terrible way to go! He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. He had just wanted her… gone. Weakened. Not a threat to children any more. He had thought that she’d simply get more and more tired fighting the waves; that after enough time passed she’d become harmless again. He hadn’t thought she’d get submerged and never come up; he hadn’t thought she’d actually get _swallowed by the sea monster!_

The Old Hag was spinning in a dizzying pace now, and he could _see_ her getting _dragged down_.

In a split-second decision, Jack shot down, holding out the hook of his staff towards her outstretched hands–

She went under the waves, and Jack’s staff met uselessly with the surface of the water, creating pieces of ice that spun frantically before getting swallowed in turn.

Jack froze in disbelief, staring at the now empty expanse of sea.

It was some time before he pulled the staff back close to his chest, but he remained hovering over the hole in the water, expectant… he didn’t know what of. He still didn’t know if this would kill her. He didn’t know if the chase was at an end. He didn’t know if he should feel relief or not. He didn’t know if he should be feeling _sad_ or not.

After a while, Jack formed another tiny iceberg a good way from the mouth in the water and sat on it. He still waited, staring anxiously around the surface, but at least he was resting. It _was_ getting gradually easier to breathe.

If… if she was gone _forever…_ Should he even feel bad about it? He hadn’t meant to… to do this to her. He didn’t know it would happen. He led her here, but she wasn’t actually forced to follow. She must have guessed it was dangerous. He tried to pull her out at the last moment. Would it have even worked? Would he have been strong enough to keep her out of the water? Would they both get dragged? What if she was fine, and pretending to drown was her own ruse to make him come closer?

Jack bit his lip, bobbing wildly up and down the waves as he pondered over a dozen different questions with no answers. Every now and then he’d get carried close to that mouth, he’d fly off and create another iceberg a little way off. Eventually, as time passed, he started to feel a little better —at least physically. Resting solidly for such a prolonged period did wonders for his aching limps, although he still desperately felt the need to sleep. There was no chance he could do that right now, obviously, not with the mouth of the whirlpool so freaking _close_ and the possibility of the Old Hag popping out of the waves still being very real.

* * *

 

Time passed. The sun began to get lower towards the horizon. Jack’s tempest had now completely ceased; he didn’t have the energy for it anyway.

He was still hesitant of leaving. _Hours_ had gone by and nothing had changed, but he wanted to be sure. How long he should be waiting for that, he didn’t know. _What_ he wanted the outcome to be, he didn’t know either. If she had died, it would at least partially be his fault. If he had been behaving properly, if he hadn’t harassed that troll… She wouldn’t get a boost in power. Yet her decisions were her own, and she wanted to attack _children._

Jack let his eyelids drift closed, resting his chin on the palm of his good hand. He was so, so _tired_. He felt like he probably wasn’t thinking clearly. He couldn’t do this for much longer. Would it be okay if he fell asleep in this position on his tiny drifting iceberg? He was good at keeping his balance while asleep in all sorts of positions. It would probably be fine…

Jack felt his own body relax, every aching muscle finally getting soothed. His mind began to wander, his surroundings started to fade away… Even the rise and fall of the waves now seemed muted.

The thought sent tiny alarms ringing at the back of his head; he ignored them, getting pulled deeper and deeper into sleep, until the growing uneasiness nudged him to blink his eyes open and stare blearily around.

…The sea _was_ considerably calmer.

Jack’s first thought was that he had drifted away from the dangerous pass. Then he noticed that the surrounding mountains looked exactly the same, and he realized that the waves had _actually_ quieted down.

For a moment, he was uncomprehending; but the alarms rang stronger, and he weakly attempted to sit up on his now half-melted iceberg. He struggled to force his eyes properly open, to _see–_

_–_ He saw her.

First a hand, then a head emerged from the water. There was a throat-ripping coughing noise, a sharp intake of breath.

Jack stared. There were hacks all over her skin; it was bloody and bruised and torn in places, as if she had fought… _something_ beneath the water and…

…and won?

Jack realized she was staring at him. Her expression was one of pure murder.

Yet she didn’t approach him, and Jack didn’t try to fly off. Instead, she turned to swim towards the shore, and for a moment Jack thought that maybe she finally had had enough, that maybe she was going to hole up somewhere and lick her wounds, but then he took better stock of her snarling face and gleaming, furious eyes and suddenly he realized that she wasn’t about to hole up anywhere anytime soon. This was about _revenge;_ she’d go out and–

“No, wait, please!” Jack cried and shot up from his iceberg, flying towards her. “I’m here! I’m right here!”

To Jack’s horror, she ignored him: her eyes were dead set on the shore, on the smoke that rose from behind a mountain slope, _on the village that hid there_. _She was going to make him pay_.

Jack began to despair. _This wasn’t how it was supposed to go._ He didn’t mean to make things worse!

He barreled straight into the Old Hag —maybe this was what she was after, but he didn’t care at this point— just as she set foot on solid ground. She fell face-first into the mud, and suddenly she was all grabbing at him, and Jack was shrinking backwards, doing his best to keep _just out of her reach,_ slipping between clutching hands and past clawed fingers. He backed away, dizzy but still able to discern ‘ _towards Old Hag’_ from ‘ _away from Old Hag’,_ and after a while he had her running properly towards him again. Jack took off, with the monstrous woman at his heels once more.

He was trembling from head to foot; he couldn’t help it. This had been too close. It had _all_ been _far too close_.

Yet the Old Hag was in a bad shape, too. Jack took heart from the thought: the next thing he tried would work, he was _sure_ of it. _It’d work._ She’d get trapped. _Whatever_ he came up with, _whatever_ he used, it would be enough in her current state.

_It’d work._

_It would be okay. Everything would be okay very soon._

Jack forced himself to control his rapid, shallow breathing.

_Just a little more._

_He’d just have to hold on a little more. Just a little._


	11. No,Pitch has nothing to do with this one

Jack flew on at a moderate speed; no longer just to allow the Old Hag to catch up, but also because he _actually_ couldn’t go any faster. It was a bit disquieting, watching her marching steadily, ceaselessly behind him, while he was unable to get away any more. Before, he had been restraining his flight by choice; now he didn’t have that choice any more. His mind was still set onto it, but it was increasingly unpleasant to watch her _always_ linger right at his heel, no matter where he went.

The landscape rushed by beneath his feet, without Jack really noticing. It was always changing. He could dimly tell that it was crops giving way to cities, valleys to forests, mountains to rivers… But his brain refused to function beyond that. He could not think of what part of the land he could use to defeat the Old Hag. Everything seemed useless, offering no options. He didn’t know what to do.

Jack could only fly on, looking for… he didn’t know what, putting all of his strength in at least keeping a steady pace and a proper altitude. He tried desperately to take his mind off the Old Hag, who _was always right there._

It seemed that her constant presence had woven through his thoughts and wedged itself deep into his brain. He was _always_ painfully aware of it, even when not actively thinking. Jack was reminded of his hunter with every shallow breath that caught in his chest, and whenever he’d turn his head just the slightest bit to glance behind, he’d see her —sometimes blurred, sometimes more clearly, but not far away.

Never far away at all.

Her face was always focused right on him.

Jack got the feeling he was being stalked by a vulture; that she was waiting patiently for the moment when he would finally, _really_ drop down from exhaustion.

The more time passed, the more Jack could actually see it happening.

He found himself daydreaming about naps; his mind wandering from the task at hand and leading him to thoughts of laying down and sleeping. He remembered every fluffy, soft snow bed be had ever slept in. Tucked away, safe in his element without a care in the world.

He reminisced about all the naps he had on tree branches: uncomfortable at first but soon soothing in the sense of freedom, of lack of boundaries they offered. The wind was always there, always with him, rocking the tree gently.

Sometimes he would sleep straight on the frozen surface of his lake. Spread-eagled and exposed, but he could see the stars then. The whole sky stretched above him, every little bit of it shining with a unique splendor. The moon would often shine its light on him… Its bright, silent presence at times filling Jack with reassurance and hope; at others, with bitterness and frustration. Even during those times though when he wished it would drop the act and truly leave him alone, a part of him was always relieved that it was _there_. And he would sleep so soundly…

And there were countless other places, in different countries, on high places, at the tip of precipices, on the top of human landmarks, surrounded with penguins, in an alley listening to a musician playing the piano; each new sleeping spot offering a different kind of delight right before exhaustion overtook him. Each one would make him feel bliss and relief and a kind of contentment, and Jack could remember exactly how it felt to relax, to let himself go… To drift away, to _rest…_

Jack forced his eyes back open with a strangled sound. It had been _too close._ He had almost fallen asleep flying, and he _knew_ the wind would be useless then. He needed to focus. He needed to finish the game. To win.

However, now that he had trouble keeping his eyes open, Jack was finally forced to admit it:

“…I _really_ didn’t think this thing through,” he chuckled, amused by his own lack of foresight. There was no way he could go on _forever_. Sooner or later, he would have to land and _sleep_ , even if only for half an hour.

Scratch that, he only needed five minutes.

One minute.

Just a few moments to rest his eyes.

A soft, plaintive exhale of breath, and Jack was shaking his head fervently. It was impossible to rest safely while the Old Hag was still after him. He just had to win, quickly.

It was tempting, though. It was tempting to _finally stop._

No, he… he had to go on. He couldn’t risk this, he couldn’t rest yet.

 _Although,_ and the idea formed in his head seemingly without his consent, _if the Old Hag caught him then he’d be able to sleep. Sure, sleep interrupted by her feeding… but that would be muted, he’d barely feel anything, it’d be just a nightmare…_

Jack nearly howled in frustration. _Don’t think of that! Don’t think of that! You’re so close! This is a game, and you’ve yet to meet a person who plays better than you! SHE’ll be the one who gives up!_

“ _I can do this,_ ” Jack repeated with fervor. “It will be all right. I just have to _think_ … think… think…”

They were crossing a large mountain range and to his dismay, Jack felt the air progressively getting warmer. The sun began to glow overhead with the fierceness of a blazing fire, and the sky turned a brilliant blue as the remains of Jack’s clouds started to dispel.

He was flying towards the equator.

He could feel the sunlight sizzling him mercilessly, a headache pounding steadily behind his temple. The light was blinding him, and it was _so_ tempting to squeeze his eyes close against the glare, but he knew he’d have trouble opening them again.

He could no longer make it snow at all, not here, he knew; oh, the snowflakes would _form_ alright, but they would melt away in the air long before they could go anywhere near the ground. Jack could only maintain a protective layer of frost on his own body, as it was in constant contact with the staff, its source.

The Old Hag didn’t appear to be affected by the heat at all, and Jack rose with difficulty a few metres in the air, aiming to catch colder winds. This was too taxing, he had to try another trap _soon._ Something she wouldn’t suspect. _Now._

Yet as the sea stretched in front of his eyes once more, bright blue and shimmering, Jack found himself struggling to think. What here could be adequate for taking the Old Hag down? There was only sun and sea. Should he try leading her to water again? Should he try and look for another monster?

Then Jack’s eyes widened as he realized that he was flying over highly populated places: wherever he looked there were _villages_ and _people_ and _boats_ and _not here not here not here!_

Jack steeled himself, mentally preparing to fly across the sea once more; there was no other choice. He had to get her as _far away_ as possible, as _soon_ as possible. He’d worry afterwards about what…

…There was the Sahara desert down south, his mind sluggishly recalled. There were _all sorts_ of dangerous spirits there, and most of all there was a lot of sand.

A sandstorm could bury a person. A sandstorm could flay the skin right off a person; he knew that as well.

He pushed the drowsiness consuming him to the back of his mind, pushed himself to fly over, over the sea, wishing he could go faster just so he’d get this _over with,_ and be free of this oppressive heat, and sleep. Dimly, the idea that maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly crossed his mind; maybe he was affected by the heat, maybe he should turn back to a colder climate… But turning around seemed like too much work and Jack hated himself for being unable to do it. Flying straight was so much easier.

Besides, he was so close now. He was flying above an island, and after that the water stretched to every direction. He only had to cross the sea to arrive to the desert _, he knew._

So close. _So close._

A smell of rotting eggs abruptly filled his nostrils.

Jack gasped and gagged, surprised at the sudden assault on his senses. He flew faster, eager to get away and into clean air once more; he inhaled a deep breath–

A deep breath of reeking air entered his lungs instead; it made his throat burn. The world around him started to spin.

It was growing darker inside his head. A sense of blissed weightlessness stole over Jack, and he struggled against the pull of darkness. He gripped his staff more tightly, anchoring himself with its presence, and for a moment that was all that he could feel.

Then he got smacked on the face with something thin and hard, and he opened his eyes just in time to notice that he was tumbling through a forest canopy.

Calling for the wind did not do much to slow his descent at this point: it was moments later when he tore through the branches and landed face first on the forest floor.

Jack jumped upright on shaking legs as fast as he could, spitting out leaves and struggling to get his bearings. His surroundings continued to spin after he had stood, leaving him to stagger around uncontrollably.

He grasped a nearby branch to steady himself. “What happened…?” he whispered with an uncertain voice, eyeing the forest warily. The trees swam before his eyes as he tried to peer among them for incoming danger —it was too long before his head began to clear.

_…It was so sudden! Did he pass out for a moment? He hadn’t realized the Old Hag had already done so much damage!_

Jack’s breath hitched. This was bad. It was getting too much. The Old Hag must have seen him dropping from the air, and it was just a matter of time before she burst through the trees.

Jack looked around desperately. He just needed to rest for a short while; he had been flying for so long… He just needed a nap, a very short nap, a few moments of respite, and then he could resume the game.

He heard distant branches snapping. Panic gripped his heart in a vice grip. Jack whirled around in a dizzying speed, searching for, for, he didn’t know, _but he could not do this_ , he could not fly away fast enough, he had to–

His gaze fell on a dark gap among the boulders of the slope; a black hole, peaking at him invitingly.

Jack darted towards it, stooping low as he approached. It looked _deep._ It smelled faintly of rotten eggs. Could this cover his scent?

More branches snapped behind him, and Jack no longer had the presence of mind to ponder over his options. In a mad dash of panic, the winter spirit ducked into the hole and started running, half-crouched, down the winding, rough tunnel.

The soles of his feet tore against the sharp stones as he ran but Jack didn’t dare fly, didn’t dare the whistle of the wind giving his hiding hole away. He picked up the pace when he thought he heard some kind of noise from far behind him, his head knocking against the ceiling a couple of times as the tunnel turned darker.

It went on for a long way.

Jack paused in the darkness after several minutes, struggling to quiet his breathing. Gripping his staff hard, he folded down in a tight crouch, and he strained to listen past the drumming of his heart.

The long tunnels were silent.

Then he heard it.

“Oooh, it is warm in here but I can feel it getting _colder,_ ” echoed a much hated voice from far behind him, barely recognizable in the altered acoustics of the shaft.

Jack shot up and resumed running blindly downwards as fast as he could.                          

 _It was stupid to come here_ , he thought, dismayed. _He was going to get trapped. She was faster than him, and she could track him down._

But then, Jack realized with a sparkle of relief, _he_ could navigate in the absolute darkness with the wind: the breezes would naturally follow along the curves of the passageways, allowing him to effortlessly glide through them if he was carried by the currents.

The thought lifted his spirits, a new lightness blooming in his tight chest.

The Old Hag might be able to run faster than him, she might even be able to _smell_ him, but if she had no way to see in the dark her process would be much slower. She would trip over every obstacle and fall in every pit. The fact that she _hadn’t_ already caught up with him was _encouraging_.

Jack took a shaking deep breath. _Could it be that he had the upper hand here, in the unlikeliest of places?_

“Burning hot!” came a distorted, sing-song voice from very far away.

Jack smirked. How nice of the Old Hag to warn him of her proximity.

He _had the upper hand._ She had used his own snow against him at first, then the field had been evened out in the ocean, and now _he had the upper hand._

Provided that he didn’t get trapped in a dead end, he was going to be fine. _He was_.

He just had to go far away enough, to put enough distance between them. Then he could close his eyes for a few seconds, and then he could resume the game. Maybe he could even trap her in here, make a tunnel collapse or something. He would improvise. It was going to be fine.

His spirits perked up, Jack half-flew, half-ran down a new unseen opening with _ease_.

OK, this actually wasn’t scary at all. It was more like hide-and-seek–

“Boiling hot!” the Old Hag’s shout reached him through the darkness.

…Apparently, the Old Hag had the same thought, although she had gotten the rules of the game a bit mixed-up.

Eh, Jack could work with that. He was great with spontaneity.

He flew blindly up a vertical shaft that would have taken a professional climber _hours_ to scale, and he darted down a new passageway.

Man, this mountain was like a gigantic anthill. Or maybe like Swiss cheese. Would he encounter any giant ants? Could he direct them to the Old Hag? Or were they just regular tunnels created by water? They were getting pretty spacious now and they stretched forever; at times they were punctuated with rough stone pillars and stalactites that Jack brushed as he flew by.

So, it was water. He hadn’t actually found any yet, it was all dried out, but Jack thought his chances were better the deeper he went. And then it’d be much easier to both cool himself down, _and_ fight the Old Hag. _Maybe he could use it to freeze her in these tunnels,_ that was _exactly_ the sort of thing he needed!

Jack grinned despite his exhaustion. He could do it, _he could do it!_

He’d still have to keep his eyes (er, ears in this case) open in case he encountered some type of monster he could pit against her. But things were looking (figure of speech) good!

“It’s midday in the desert and the sun is burning my skin off!” the Old Hag shouted cheerfully from very far away.

“Yeah, yeah, aren’t you enjoying this a bit too much,” Jack muttered to himself as he leapt over a chasm that would have swallowed anyone unsuspecting, thanks to the telling whistle of the wind down the hole.

She _was_ enjoying all this a bit too much. Would a snowball to the head work on someone who liked eating children?

Did Jack even want to know the answer to that?

 _Definitely not,_ Jack thought as he accidentally bumped his head on a stalactite protruding from the ceiling. He span on the spot for a few moments, eyes watering a bit with the pain, before resuming his mad dash through the darkness.

He had a few moments of pure panic when he realized he couldn’t tell if he was going the right way or back the way he came, until he heard a voice calling from far behind him:

“Fresh hot blo–aaargh!!”

The shout was followed by sounds of falling rubble.

Jack smirked. _The Old Hag had fallen in that chasm, hadn’t she!_ He kicked off the wall to dart around a corner and raised a hand to wipe the condensation on his brow away from his eyes.

Hey, he should put those chasms in good use! The next one he came across, he’d have its brim _iced all over._ Then she’d _definitely_ drop and wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. And maybe break a few bones in the process? In the meantime, Jack should really find a way to make these tunnels collapse. If he came across a chasm that had a pillar next to it or something…

Jack shot down the tunnels as fast as he could now, getting deeper and deeper, listening to the whistles of the wind, searching for any sound that would indicate _water_ or a _hole_ or _anything_ he could use. His heart beat weakly but steadily, his breaths were rapid but deep, and he _could do it, he would do it!_

“Burning hot again,” shouted the Old Hag from a great distance once more, the voice echoing strangely in the tunnels. She sounded annoyed at getting hindered, however briefly.

Okay, so she had climbed back up. He _really_ needed that chasm–

_THERE was one!_

Jack zoomed towards it excitedly, relief blooming in his chest. It was exactly what he needed, a clear drop that went in forever and disappeared in complete darkness. He didn’t see how he could make it collapse, but he was perfectly willing to stuff it with ice until the whole thing froze solid. It would probably take the last of his reserves, but he’d give it his all. He would _make_ this work.

Impatient, Jack froze over the lip of the precipice with a frenzied grin on his face.

The grin dissolved as he watched the ice melt in front of his eyes, and drip away uselessly into the hole.

…Wait.

He could see?

“Boiling hot!”

Breath catching in his chest, Jack looked up. The tunnel was no longer drenched in absolute darkness; the shift was tiny, almost indiscernible, but he could just barely make out the shape of the walls, the texture of the stones, his melted ice flowing away and slowly evaporating into nothing…

Jack frowned. He stared down at himself: his feet left tiny puddles of water on the rough stone. Even as he watched, they faded away.

Jack stared, open-mouthed and uncomprehending.

It was… it was warm? Well, _sure_ it was warm, he wasn’t in the north anymore… But he hadn’t realized it was _that_ bad… he was almost melting!

Jack peered around again. There was no discernible light source; just, just the faintest light sipping from… from somewhere, far at the bottom end of the tunnel.

“Midday in the desert!”

The winter spirit flinched and turned to look behind him. _That_ end of the tunnel was completely submerged in darkness. He couldn’t tell– he couldn’t see anything, any _one_ coming.

Gulping, he started flying in a brisk pace down the length of the tunnel again, looking around with caution. Curiosity mixed with dread as he took in the dark grey stone walls, at times smooth and almost polished; but there were other places where part of the tunnel had clearly collapsed, and _those_ were the ugliest, roughest rocks Jack had ever seen. He didn’t even know rocks could be ugly before now! He’d swear there was something almost cruel about them. It was almost as if they tried to resemble… to resemble bones.

Face pinched with worry, Jack looked around for any side-tunnels branching away and up as he flew on. He didn’t want to keep going downwards. And he _definitely_ couldn’t go back. He’d have to find another exit. One would surely come up eventually.

His breathing had grown haggard now. This place was _definitely_ warmer than normal. His reserves were getting tapped out just by being in here.

Jack sped on his path down the tunnel; the sooner he got out of this place, the better. There had been other shafts forking away before, where were they now?!

“Fresh, hot blood!”

Jack had to swallow down a yelp. He pushed himself to go faster, but it was not possible. He was at his limit.

This whole thing was a bad idea. He had just wanted to sleep!

…He had messed up again.

Jack had no choice but to keep going forward, growing more desperate all the while. The walls had taken a red tint now, coloured by the weak light diffusing into the tunnel. It put Jack in mind of pain and fires and blood, and it was with short, rapid breaths that he advanced towards the distant glow that shone from the end of the passageway.

He could feel the heat burning oppressively against his face now, despite the staff in his hand, despite his own layer of frost. It was getting difficult to breathe. The terrible stench of rotten eggs was _everywhere,_ stinging at his throat and nose _._

He let the wind die out and landed, to conserve energy. As his eyes adjusted to the constantly strengthening red light, he saw that there was a large opening at the end of the tunnel. Its outline was shimmering in a mad haze, as if underwater. Light and heat radiated out of it like Jack had _the_ _sun_ _itself_ shoved in his face.

Jack gulped. He knew what that meant. He had seen one of those before, in a different place. Only then he hadn’t gone through any tunnels, and he hadn’t explored. He had just floated through the entrance at the cavern’s roof, out of curiosity. And then he had fled straight out again.

He still forced himself to march towards the opening; he had to see if there was anything salvageable in this situation.

“Corpse-cold!” yelled the Old Hag; she still sounded pretty far away.

Jack spared only the slightest of glances backwards; in comparison with the bright red glow of the opening, the tunnel behind him was nothing but a black hole. It was impossible to discern anything.

His attention back to the giant opening, he walked slowly, cautiously towards it, taking stock of the _heat,_ and of how much he could take, reluctant of getting too close. There wasn’t anything he could hide behind as he approached.

Then he got close enough _to see_ and his eyes got used to the light and Jack felt like the world was falling away from him.

Beyond the tunnel was a great cavern, easily as large as a big hill.

And it wasn’t empty.

There were _things_ moving in the hollow space.

They were red and grey and _many, many_ , and Jack was confused and horrified because last time there had been only _one_ , and he could only stare as the shapes slithered around each other, coiled and hissed and roared. They were vaguely snake-like, although each snake was the size of a small river, and each head the size of a mighty oak. Bright, white lava dripped from their fangs as they shuddered and rammed against each other with maniacal energy. Their eyes burnt bright red, flashing _fire_ when they stared at something for too long, and there was such malice and cruelty reflected in them that Jack felt, had they the chance, they’d destroy every living thing.

He wanted to back away, he wanted to become small and hide, but he was frozen in place. He watched as the snakes hissed and _gnawed_ at each other and at _themselves_ , seemingly in a furious urge to _destroy destroy destroy._ They spit fire with every bite, snorted black smoke out of their nostrils with every hiss. The lava was pooling beneath the slithering mass, gnawing and melting away the cavern walls, while the black smoke congealed at the roof of the cavern, suffocating, reeking horribly.

The heads _slammed_ against the cavern walls, their spiked scales tearing and melting the stone to pieces. Each angry toss of the heads caused a roar and a mighty wind that sounded like it could snap _trees and houses in two_ and _blast people to pieces._

Jack slammed his eyes shut, covering his face with both hands and curling into a tight ball as he tried to suppress a cry.

He couldn’t stand this. He wanted to get away. He wanted to leave. This was too much. They were too powerful. Too cruel. There was such _hatred…_ such _malice_ radiating from them… Jack was paralyzed in the face of the writhing mass.

…They would kill him.

They would burn him into nothingness with a single touch. His last moments would be being engulfed in fire and hate, and then he would be gone without a trace here in the depths of the earth, away from the sky and people and all things beautiful.

And no one _would ever know_.

No one would ever, _ever notice he was gone._

Jack let out a strangled cry, curling tighter.

He couldn’t go any further.

He couldn’t do this.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home. He wanted this to be over.

He knew that the child in the fairy tale is supposed to throw the evil witch into her oven, but he could not do this. He could not do it. He could not get any closer. _He could not do it._

He wanted to get out. _HE WANTED TO GET OUT!_

Jack was agonizingly overcome with the urge to just _TURN AND RUN, run and fly away away away AWAY–_

 _–_ but he couldn’t bring himself to uncurl and stand up. The desire to run was so great he wanted to _scream_ and he _still_ couldn’t lift himself from the floor. There was that fissure some way back, he _knew_ he could fly back and hide in it, only he didn’t dare get any closer to–

“Cold mountain stream!”

Jack suppressed a sob.

He struggled to control the shaking that had completely overcome his limbs. He tried to get his breathing under control, to _pry his hands from his face_ –

He didn’t succeed in any of the above; his body just refused to obey. Jack was close to screaming; _he just couldn’t take it any more._

He half-rocked back and forth, half-slammed his hands against his head, desperate for a way out. Think, _think!_

…Could he lure the Old Hag in? He _couldn’t_ get any closer to the pit of snakes, he _wouldn’t do it_ – and she wouldn’t even _follow_ , not when she saw what was inside. His wind was a weak thing now, it couldn’t _throw_ her there. He couldn’t keep the floor iced long enough for her to slip all the way in, either, it would melt instantly–

–and any flash of cold could attract the _things’_ attention towards him.

The thought sent Jack scuttling away from the opening like an animal.

_“Falling snowflakes!”_

He flinched violently, hunching further into himself. The Old Hag sounded very close now. With a colossal effort, he forced himself to _look,_ to search for other exits, for other solutions, yet his eyes only met stone and red glow and pure darkness, and his ears met the gurgling and hissing of lava, and his own frantic breathing. And the _heat, the heat!_

He found his hands covering his eyes again, _he didn’t want this_ , _he couldn’t take it anymore_ , he just _wanted it TO STOP–_

_“Winter wind!”_

His breaths were nothing short of terrified hitches now.

He–

There was _nowhere to go_ –

There was a sudden commotion in the darkness and–

“FREEZING COLD!” came a shriek, and _hands_.

Jack felt arms closing in around him, sharp nails digging into his skin.

He screamed.

He screamed and kicked and pushed against the unmoving, merciless force grabbing him. He could feel hot breath against his cheek, and then he was slammed on his back against the ground, one hand pressing down on his chest, and a weight like a glacier pinning him down. Jack was sure his ribs would crack with the force, but the Old Hag still pushed harder, pressing him against the burning floor, squeezing the breath out of him.

Jack fought back, somehow managing to put his staff across his chest like a barrier, trying desperately to push her back, the wind billowing madly around them.

Still pinning him down with one hand, she grabbed his staff with the other one and _pulled_.

Jack’s vision went white for a moment with the pressure against his chest, but still his frozen fingers refused to let go of his only weapon. Struggling to concentrate, he shot frost up her arm, frost that turned into weak slush and melted almost instantly before his eyes. The Old Hag chuckled at the sight and leaned closer, putting more of her weight on him.

“You know what my darling, delicious goose?” she whispered as he gasped for air, her hot breath somehow even more scorching than the sweltering air of the tunnel. “I was going to eat _all of the children_ from one pathetic village. After you, I was _very hungry_ , I knew I wouldn’t be sated with measly meals anymore; so I bid my time, setting a trap to catch them all together. I was interrupted when _you_ arrived. Gave them all up to go after _you._ And you wasted all my time until now, herding me to various annoying places. I think that’s _very_ unfair. _”_ She sounded angry.

Jack ceased struggling, something other than misery and pain and guilt blossoming in his chest. Could he dare hope that–

The Old Hag hadn’t finished speaking. “Do you know what we’re gonna do, Jackie boy? We’ll go to a _big_ city, you and me. The _biggest_ we can find. One where _no one will ever know us_ ,” she added tenderly, as if describing an intimate dream. “I’m going to rent a room just for you to stay.”

 _Yes,_ Jack thought. _That’s fine. I don’t mind._

His grip on the staff started to slacken. He was _so tired–_

“And since you like kids so much, I’m going to let you wake periodically; I’ll invite poor, lonely children who don’t have anyone in the world, just so they can experience something nice for once: keeping company to the _poor, sick boy_ who doesn’t have the strength to leave his bed nor even speak,” she hissed, a cruel grin forming on her face. “And after they read you stories and play with you for a while and you have had your fun, I’m going to invite them to stay for dinner, and _then you can_ _watch_. How does that sound?”

Jack’s hesitant relief at the inkling that his plan had _worked_ , that the Old Hag _hadn’t harmed any children because of him_ , burnt to cinders.

Surviving to be used by her was no longer an option.

The Old Hag started cackling and it was only then that Jack realized he was thrashing madly. Fists, legs, knees, his staff, all connected with her face and limbs in a frenzy of futile effort, every blow bouncing harmlessly off the fat folds of her skin.

He could see her laughing, but he couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was a desperate, ear-piercing scream.

No. Concentrate.

He raised his staff, aiming at her eyes.

He had tried this with burning cinders before, now he’d do it with ice. He had failed then, but he wasn’t going to hesitate now. Jack knew his frost would melt almost immediately in the sweltering heat, but all he needed to deal serious damage was a _single_ moment of _hard_ , _sharp_ ice.

Just. _One_. _Moment_.

Jack fired at the same time she twisted the staff violently, bending his wrist backwards. Jack hardly had the time to scream at the pain, to watch the shot of ice miss her wildly, before she tugged at the staff again.

This time his hurt hand was unable to hold on to the aged wood, and it slipped from his fingers.

The world was swallowed by blinding heat.

The scorching air entering his lungs was roasting him from the inside out, he was laid out on something searing hot, he was being burnt alive–

 

Jack was standing on the edge of a roof in some city in the tropics; the night sky was dark with the new moon, but it was covered with millions of stars, their unparalleled beauty leaving him breathless. Despite the late hour, the air was so warm that his powers didn’t have much of an effect. He couldn’t make it snow even if he tried; it would melt immediately and only leave him drained. The thin layer of frost on his skin couldn’t do much to negate the insufferable heat burning against his face, his arms, his poor blistered feet —yet he wouldn’t change it _for the world_ :

There was a _carnival_ going on, the likes of which Jack had never seen. People dancing and laughing, there were drums and flutes playing a lively tune. There were colourful flags waving in the warm wind; there were flowers decorating every pole and every surface; their sweet fragrance filled the air to a dizzying extent. There were dancers with torches drenched in sweat, performing incredible feats of grace and coordination, leaving spectators open-mouthed with awe.

It was all a bit too much on his senses, so much colour, music, light; combined with the heat it almost sent Jack reeling. Yet there was such a sense of being _alive_ and carefree, of _celebrating_ life, of _enjoying_ the moment, that Jack couldn’t help but linger and watch. He wanted to stay throughout the whole night, listen to every song, follow along every dance, filch bites from every plate of food offered, watch every reason-defying stunt with the torches. Jack felt like he _belonged_ among these bright, noisy people, people who would never see him and lived so far away from the place he called home, yet shared his passion for fun, in their own way.

Maybe _they’d_ see him, if he could only make it snow here.

A blessedly cold breeze caressed his back and Jack took a deep, blissful breath–

 

His feet were being dragged against the ground.

Jack blinked, sight and mind both hazy. He could see the ground moving away from him, warm stone scratching the blistered heels of his feet. There was something squeezing tight around his chest, making it hard to breathe, but his weary head was resting on warm, sweaty flesh–

—He was leaning on the Old Hag’s shoulder as she dragged him up the dark, searing hot corridor.

Jack jerked to life. He weakly pushed away from her, pulled at the arms coiled around his chest with hands that shook too much to function, kicked futilely with sluggish legs at the ground moving mercilessly away from him—

The Old Hag chuckled and squeezed his chest just a bit tighter, leaving him to struggle for breath. “Are you alright, my goose?” she said sweetly, her voice deceptively gentle. “You almost melted right in front of my eyes when I took your staff, but I’ve found a workaround for _that._ ”

Jack belatedly realized that the blessed coolness against his back was his staff digging in the flesh between his shoulder blades, which the Old Hag kept firmly in place by squeezing them both against her own body.

Jack’s arm twitched and with colossal effort he grabbed it blindly and tried to pull it away, at not avail; the Old Hag’s grip was so strong that the aged wood remained unmoving and firmly lodged into his back.

He could now only shoot momentary ice at the ground between his own two feet, on his own back, or in the scorching air above both of their heads.

“No,” Jack whispered, renewing his weak struggles. The Old Hag didn’t seem to pay him any attention; she looked very excited as she climbed vigorously up the slope, looking this way and that.

Was she looking for an exit? Was the heat getting too much for her, too?

When Jack got outside, maybe he could—

“ _…This looks like a good spot_ ,” she said suddenly, breathless and giddy with impatience, and Jack had a moment of complete disorientation as he was suddenly moved around. He couldn’t tell what was up or down for a long moment, and then the overwhelming dizziness was punctuated by a sharp blow on the back of his head.

He gasped. Jack’s sluggish movements ceased altogether for a while until the ringing in his head began to die down. He could tell he was looking at a rocky surface right next to his face, extending far away until it blurred into a red light…

…He was lying on his back against the burning stone floor in a dark corner, the staff digging painfully into his spine as the Old Hag pinned down his collarbone with a clawed hand and his legs with a knee.

Jack’s eyes widened in terror as the horrifying realization dawned on him.

 _Now?_ Like this?

_Wasn’t she going to drain him to unconsciousness first?_

The Old Hag must have noticed the desperation in the way he stared at her because she chuckled and leaned a bit closer to his face, clearly savoring his expression as she spoke.

“Oh my goose, last time you were in a bad way, so I had to be gentle,” she whispered softly, “I had to make sure I wouldn’t lose you… Now however, since you’ve been leading me into _avalanches_ and _whirlpools_ and _volcanoes_ , I’d say you have the _strength to deal with the whole thing_.” She turned away from his face and leaned slightly towards his stomach. “Do you know, my favorite part is the _liver_ ,” the monstrous woman said, eyes glinting in the weak red light. “I hear it _regenerates faster than any other organ_ , but I’ve never had the chance to observe that myself. I am looking _forward_ to discovering it with you.”

Jack tried to push himself up; to roll away; to no avail.

The Old Hag pulled up the bottom half of his shirt. With agonizingly slow movements, she lowered a clawed, dirty hand against his bared stomach, ignoring his increasing squirming. The nails dug just slightly in his skin, and Jack convulsed pathetically at the touch. The Old Hag stared down at him for several long moments and her mouth _stretched_ , wider and _wider_ to a _long smile_ _full of sharp teeth_. The grip on his collarbone tightened, almost choking him.

The Old Hag started to lower her face towards his abdomen.

Jack flinched bodily, limbs jerking in all directions as he watched her come closer, mouth opening–

“No, please, no,” Jack’s voice broke, “please please _please please PLEASE!”_

The Old Hag was cackling, and he was pushing at her, and she was making a mocking show of being hindered, of going slower, but she still leaned down, and he could feel warm breath against his skin–

Jack jerked his head to the side. He was not going to watch this.

There was a thin trickle of water from the ice melting out of him, flowing slowly away before it evaporated. Jack fixed his attention on that.

It was easy to image it to be a stream in some faraway land; it was a fresh, cool creek running among huge boulders in some rocky landscape. It would lead him to people and cities if he followed it, and right now it was flowing towards a magnificent red sunset–

Jack blinked. The rivulet was flowing downwards, towards the red light.

He jerked, grasping the staff behind his neck with one weak hand, and ice exploded beneath his back.

The Old Hag did not appear to notice anything —he could just feel her teeth sinking in but he wasn’t going to think of it— even when the wind came.

It was a feeble breeze, almost unnoticeable, but combined with gravity and the sleet of ice Jack constantly maintained beneath them both, it started to push them smoothly down the tunnel. The ice kept melting almost immediately, but it only needed to cover the stone right beneath them both, and so Jack strained himself to keep forming it, draining what little remained of his strength.

He could see the stone walls above blurring as they moved, getting redder–

The Old Hag raised her head (her teeth tearing their way out but _he wasn’t going to think of that_ ) and looked up, confused at the sudden sense of movement and the wind steadily batting against her, but there was nothing for her to do as they both reached the blurrily shimmering walls of the cavern’s opening.

Jack raised his free hand, weakly pushing her away again; this time there was nothing for her to brace against because they were both _flying over the edge_ and into the deadly cavern.

* * *

The burning air encompassed him like a smothering iron hug; he felt it as a physical blow. He couldn’t even gasp; despite holding onto his staff, the heat inside the cave was much more than he could handle. It overwhelmed his senses, fogging his brain and turning his sight into a blur of red and dark shapes.

He could faintly discern Old Hag’s face in front of him, shadowed with furious rage. There was something squeezing tight the wrist of his outstretched, pushing arm–

Jack raised the tip of his staff dully and tapped his own elbow.

A blissfully cold sensation encompassed his limb for a minuscule moment. He felt the grip slipping effortlessly off his wet hand.

Jack watched as the Old Hag dropped like a stone and fell straight into the withering mass of snakes.

She must have screamed, he thought, it was only that the hiss of the serpents and the drumming of his own heart were louder.

He stared, strangely detached as she clawed her way out of the molten lava. She swam in it as if it was water, yet Jack could see her skin blackening and burning.

The snakes didn’t seem to notice her, like she was just another piece of fallen debris. She maneuvered around them, towards the cavern walls, where she started digging with her bare hands at the red-hot stone.

He could _see_ her flesh melting.

Jack wanted to vomit.

He forced himself to tear his eyes _away,_ dizzy and unstable. He grabbed the stuff tightly with both hands; it felt more like he was hanging from it not to fall rather than holding it fly. He couldn’t fly anyway. Couldn’t summon a cold enough wind. It was too warm here. Just a matter of time till he dropped.

His head was swimming badly, first giving him the sensation of floating upwards, then that the rest of the world was rising to meet him. Disoriented, Jack looked around uselessly for the tunnel he had flown out of.

His eyes met with dozens of giant serpents, all stretched to his own height and _glaring at him._

Jack swallowed. The creatures hadn’t been interested in the Old Hag. _She_ wasn’t the unnaturally cold one in the cavern.

“Uh,” he tried, “I think you’ve just been tagged?”

The snake closest to him opened its mouth wide to reveal a white-hot throat and burning smoke and _lunged._

Jack didn’t dodge. He was in no condition to do anything.

He only saw the huge burning maw coming straight at him.

The next moment he was thrown away; he violently tumbled round and round as he was hurled through the scorching air.

He was completely unable to control his flight path; he nearly got smashed against the cavern ceiling before he came to a stop amidst heavy smoke, barely having the presence of mind to hold his breath.

Jack attempted to right himself, confused. He didn’t understand what had happened; how come he wasn’t swallowed by the monster, wasn’t burnt to death? He hadn’t even _attempted_ to fly away, so how had he– _across the whole cavern_ , too!

Then another one lunged at him, and long before it had reached him Jack found himself tumbling away to the side, spinning madly all the while. The roar of the wind deafened him, and Jack understood.

It was the _snakes’ wind._ The serpents caused gales as they moved, and the resulting gusts threw him around like a ragdoll, but _also_ surprisingly out of their reach.

This was weird. Like, weirdly good luck.

What could he do with it though? He was in no state to ride any currents, and he wouldn’t be able to withstand the temperature for much longer.

One more serpent threw itself at him; Jack pursed his lips, thoughtful, before he was launched across the cavern once again.

This once his face got slammed against the burning stone wall, and Jack sighed softly in pain as he slowly fell backwards. The cavern seemed dimmer, darker somehow, and he could feel his staff slowly slipping from his fingers–

–Jack clenched it with all of his dwindling strength, willing every fiber of his being to _hold. Onto. It. And NEVER. LET. GO_.

Several agonizing moments passed before his sight began to clear.

...He was still there. He was still floating up there right in front of the wall. He struggled to look behind his shoulder–

–to the sight of three giant snakes rushing straight at him, white-hot mouths open wide.

This time, there was no open space for him to be safely flung into. He was cornered.

Jack closed his eyes.

He imagined that the rush of red behind his closed eyelids was the sunrise, and that soon kids would wake up and play in the snow–

He felt the impact before the heat came.

He was crushed against the burning stone wall, and suddenly there was such a cacophony of noise and pain that Jack just couldn’t handle. He could only feel rocks moving and bludgeoning him from all directions, and _there was such thunder_ –

Then the pressure abruptly lessened, and he was slammed against a hard surface.

…Stillness. It was darker behind his eyelids, and the heat wasn’t quite as suffocating as before.

Jack wanted to relax into the stillness, but his limbs were moving of their own accord, twitching uncontrollably, muscles contracting painfully against each other with no coordination. His fingers clenched the staff with strength he didn’t know he possessed; he felt like they’d break.

Jack struggled against himself.

Then the red behind his eyelids _flared,_ and there was another great thunder, and burning wind _hurled him_ into the darkness, repeatedly smashing him against hard stone until he finally came to a stop, breathless and hurting and still very much shaking.

He stared in a daze at the complete black he was submerged into. The blackness took a red tint to it, and suddenly a long passageway was illuminated, bathed in red light.

…Oh. The cavern wall behind him must have crumbled when the snakes attacked, and there must have been a tunnel winding right behind that particular spot, so he had ended up–

Jack didn’t finish that line of thought. A deafening hiss combined with a burning gale overtook him, and he was _thrown straight into the unknown tunnel like a toy,_ crashing against the stone walls all along the way until he collapsed, somewhere in complete darkness.

…They were still after him. They had followed him into the tunnels.

Jack couldn’t do anything but stare at the black. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even unlock his fingers from around his staff to prevent another maniacal flight.

Then he saw a red glow in the distance, a light getting _larger and brighter_ and Jack’s eyes widened.

The furious gust of wind reached him long before the glow did, and he was hurled towards the unknown once more, smashing against invisible hard surfaces, and _he was going to die from this_ , he _wouldn’t get burnt_ but he would die from _this_ , and then he skidded to a halt amidst burning smoke. His eyes stung terribly, and then the ground rumbled again and the wind came and–

–it hurt–

Jack didn’t know where he was or what was happening any more, and then he suddenly crashed against things that didn’t feel as painfully hard as stone.

He was rolling down somewhere, smashing through the bones and skins and ash of previous victims–

The boy came to a stop half-buried in them. He strived to let go of his staff and escape the merciless wind but his fingers still refused to uncurl; then Jack belatedly realized that there were only _leaves_ and _branches_ beneath him, and he opened his eyes to stare at a grey sky and, and…

He had gotten out?

He lay at the bottom of a slope, surrounded by debris and plants. The mountain towering above him was smoking furiously, and the boy gaped, unbelieving, at the vast, endless sky. Its beauty was all-consuming; Jack gasped a breath of clean, proper air, drinking in the sight above him. He _had gotten out_ –

He watched as two snake heads exploded like fire incarnate from out the side of the mountain, stretching their long necks and spitting smoke and melted stone, and _whoa_ he had caused this; he wanted to giggle because this was a pretty big mess, even by his standards. The serpents roved madly into the air with an ear-splitting sniffing sound; another one popped out, and promptly started to slither down the slope, turning left and right and burning everything it touched.

They were looking for him, the boy knew. It wouldn’t be long before they homed in his unnatural cold, but he didn’t care.

He had gotten outside. He was beneath the sky. The aftereffects of the snakes’ rampage would be seen by everyone. Someone would notice. Someone would realize, someone would be able to tell that Jack had been here.

_…And he hadn’t lost the game against the Old Hag._

Jack smiled, focusing not on the snakes, but on the beautiful landscape. The clouded sky; the green trees, their leaves shivering in the warm wind. The blue sea at the bottom of the slope; the cute little stone houses nestled near the shore–

–not far from the mountain at all.

Jack screamed soundlessly.

He unsteadily pushed himself back on his feet, now grateful for his unresponsive fingers still clinging onto the staff. He held it close to his chest with both hands and leapt back into the air towards the snakes; the wind lifted him up high above the treetops–

–he got submerged in dark water. It was the pond again, and it had flooded everything: the mountain, the sky, the snakes… Jack could only dimly see them past the murk.

He was sinking into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I wasn't satisfied with many of the scenes, and I had to try again and again. I hope you guys like it!


	12. RIP four-story snowman plan

The world itself was shaking. A great rumble was tearing it apart. It was tearing _him_ apart.

Images of fire and brimstone danced in the darkness before his eyes. Great, red-hot serpents slithering around, until everything was filled with burning scales.

He desperately wished it would be over, but the snakes were always there.

* * *

There was a fierce pounding inside his head; it hurt, _breathing_ hurt. Thinking was a lost battle. He was surrounded by oppressive heat, he could feel it sizzling his back and his limbs and his _head_. There was nothing to do about it, he couldn’t move.

Then Jack felt something tickling his cheek; it was cold and gentle and, more please?

Something furry and _warm_ brushed against his neck, and Jack would have been irked at the additional heat, but _Bunny had come again_ , and he couldn’t mind Bunny being here.

Then there came a whole lot more fur and warmth pressing against the crook of his neck, against the underside of his jaw.

It stayed there and didn’t move any more.

Jack almost groaned. C’mon Bunny, what was he waiting for? He should try to move Jack away from this oppressive heat, or at least peel his face off the mud. It was, like, basic etiquette to lift someone from the mud they had face-planted in. Didn’t Bunny know that?

Apparently he didn’t.

Or maybe he was waiting for something, because the fur remained resting against his neck. Jack thought that this, at least, was nice.

At some point the burning sensation on his back became all-consuming, and Jack was unable to focus on anything else. His head was swimming so badly that everything was sent spinning– he couldn’t tell up from down anymore; couldn’t tell where he was, what was happening to him. Could barely breathe.

His thoughts eventually melted away into the heat.

…

…Giant serpent mouths opened wide to reveal long fangs and white-hot throats, and they lunged straight at him. They didn’t quite get him; he kept slipping just out of reach at the last possible moment, but he could not move his limbs, could not do anything, and the snakes were always so close _–_

_–so close–_

_Don’t look–_

_…_ the violent impact of their strikes was jostling him repeatedly to the bone, his sight greying out and darkening with each blow; always taking too long to return, leaving Jack to spend unbearably terrifying time in blind uncertainty, surrounded by horrible noise and smothering warmth. And when his sight returned he still found himself unable to do anything; he couldn’t think, couldn’t control his flight path, he couldn’t tell if he was hurled by the snakes or carried by the wind, he couldn’t even tell whether he was holding his staff or not. His limbs felt leaden and limp and useless, and he _couldn’t stop this_ , the snakes would get him; any moment now, _any moment now, now–_

The image was replaced by pitch black tunnels and Jack was grateful for the change until he spent too much time running in the darkness, lost and searching, and he came to desperately wish for a respite that just wouldn't come. Terror rose and peaked as he knew a red glow and a fierce gale would find him, it was only a matter of time...

It faded away to his hesitant relief, and when next he could see, it was inhumanly sharp teeth dripping with blood, approaching to pierce and tear him apart. He couldn’t move.

They _sank deep_ and his stomach _hurt,_ and he couldn’t distract himself with anything else, he was forced to go through this–

A different image came, indistinct but disturbing, full of noise and hatred– he futilely sought to get away; the image lingered until he was consumed by it– then it changed again…

Jack found himself floating in a dark place of turbulence; he tried, _wanted_ , desperately to relax in it somehow.

But he kept sinking deeper and deeper into the black mess of vicious currents.

…Until he got lost in them.

…

There was a great weight on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. There were warm hands holding him against burning stone, and that _hurt!_ He wanted to squirm, to scream, but his limbs were heavy and unmoving, and he couldn’t _breathe_ –

He fleetingly found himself in a different, quieter world of burning sunlight, and he slipped right away again.

There was flesh on pudgy arms, melting away. Red and black sizzling against a murky background. His whole world consisted of chunks of flesh burning.

It made him sick. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean for this, it was just a game of tag, she didn’t have to play, she didn’t have to follow, why didn’t she just…

The mass of melting flesh shushed him and enveloped him in a suffocating hold; the heat consumed him and _he_ started to melt as well…

Jack came to briefly, face scrunched up with worry and bile rising in his throat. He wasn’t sure where he was or what was going on; he wanted to scream because why couldn’t it just be _over_ , but the next moment he was gagging as the taste of vomit filled his mouth. His stomach didn’t have much to bring up though, nor the ability to really heave, and soon Jack found himself pressing his face against a slightly cooler something, dazed and desperately thirsty. He savored the cool feeling against his dry skin and tried to press harder; he hadn’t realized how much his eyes were burning. He _needed_ something cold against them, he needed…

He faded before he could think of much else.

More images came; some nightmares, some memories, some of the waking world, all mixed up. Sometimes he lay in a frozen field, eating snow; then his head was heavy and he tasted ash in his mouth and he couldn’t discern his surroundings. He was at some point sure he was napping in some village in Andes; the next moment he thought he was in Bunny’s island, surrounded by heat and buzzing insects. He was momentarily cowering inside the dark tunnels; then he was frantically drinking water from a cool mountain spring.

Jack couldn’t discern one from the other. He didn’t know where he was.

* * *

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed when he, at some point, thought himself slightly more aware.

He still felt very sick and burning and desperately thirsty, and weak. He couldn’t lift his limbs, his stomach was throbbing with pain, and he tasted ash in his mouth. He kept his eyes closed as afterimages of fiery serpents and terrible smoke swam behind his pounding forehead, and he sighed in distress. Would have squirmed if he had the energy to do so.

Yet as more time passed, the thundering roars in his mind were gradually getting muted, giving way to… the soft rustling of leaves in the wind? Crickets? …Something, anyway. He didn’t trust his senses at this point.

His eyes fluttered half-open, and all that greeted him was darkness —not the suffocating darkness of the tunnels, though. There was a cool breeze caressing his nape and back, and Jack breathed it in hungrily in between weak coughs; he _needed_ the coolness. He could tell he was out in the open, and it was probably night.

Jack slowly began to relax. His eyelids, heavy and tired, struggled to close against burning eyes. He _really_ wished to shut them at this point, but he didn’t want to face the fire and monsters that lurked in the corners of his mind.

He focused on his surroundings instead, taking assurance by the lack or rumbles and hisses.

There _was_ something pressed against his face, something that felt rough and grainy. He realized he was lying face-down. The parts of his body that weren’t outright gripped in a bone-deep pain were heavy and unmoving instead; all of his limbs were numb and stiff. He wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t as if he could move to change that.

…And that was soil. The stuff against his face was soil. He was lying on the ground; he could feel stones and grass and dry leaves digging into his skin.

... _Ugh_. He knew this would turn boring _very soon._

Whenever he got sick or felt like he was close to passing out for whatever reason, Jack would seek a place with a grand view to crash out on. It could be anything: a blooming meadow, a church roof towering over village houses, a cliff overlooking a forested valley, the corner of a busy town square, a rooftop in front of docks bursting with ships coming from faraway places… Even any place with a clear view of the sky would do. That way, he could stare at something pleasant in between sleep during those times when he was too weak to get up and have fun himself.

He’d lose himself in beautiful nature sceneries; stargaze for hours; enjoy the sight of people milling around, going about their daily business; daydream about their families and everyday lives, plan his next escapades and future adventures…

…and now he was stuck staring at lumps of soil. Great.

Jack huffed in annoyance. If he was at least face up he’d get a good view of the sky. He briefly contemplated turning on his  back, but he was literally not strong enough to achieve such a feat and besides, he suspected his back was badly burned from all the time he spent lying on it inside the burning tunnels.

He _still_ didn’t want to go back to sleep though, so he tried to focus on the peaceful nature sounds. And come morning, he’d challenge himself to find something fascinating in the most boring substance in the world: _dirt._

…Well, he _liked_ challenges. And he felt like he had better chances in succeeding than most, anyway.

Jack listened to the soft chirping of crickets, to the gentle _woosh_ of the wind, to the faint rustle of leaves…

His eyes closed of their own accord minutes later.

* * *

He was smashed against stone walls in complete darkness. He was _so scared,_ he actually felt relief when he returned to himself, lying face-down and aching, and struggling to breathe through a stinging throat.

He fought to stay awake this time; the nightmares were so persistent it was beginning to get annoying.

His struggles didn’t last for very long; he slipped away again without realizing. He felt cool breezes alternating with burning heat. Shapes, feelings, images; some soothing, some distressing, and Jack couldn’t pick up which ones were _real._ Were those warm touches, always appearing whenever the heat became stifling, the Old Hag restraining him or were they Bunny’s furry paws? Was he back in the Old Hag’s cave? Was he safe on his lake? Was he inside the mountain? Was he? Was he…

“ _–_ then _you can watch._ ”

Jack dragged himself out of the darkness with a start. Well, because he could still barely move, it was more like a twitch.

The phrase seemed to echo in his ears, and he wasn’t sure if he had actually heard it or not. The boy pressed his face down the soil, breaths shallow and hard, wishing he could hide somehow.

He strained to listen, waiting to hear approaching footsteps; a cackle. A sharp intake of breath. _A burning exhale_ against his nape. _A hand with sharp nails touching his shoulder–_

Quivering, he could only wait for the inevitable.

After some time passed, Jack began to realize that the “inevitable” probably wasn’t about to happen. He was still lying face down on the ground in a peaceful place —he was surrounded only by sweet birdsong and a soft breeze; nothing else.

The Old Hag wasn’t here. It was just a dream.

She wasn’t here. He was okay. He was still alive.

Jack attempted to take deep, calming breaths past the burning of his throat. He tried to reassure himself that he was okay, that he was getting stronger each time he woke up, that he would soon be able to–

…Actually, the thought occurred to him that if he was still alive and basically recovering this whole time —however long it’d been— it could only mean that he was somewhere safe: the Old Hag could still be stuck deep inside the mountain, clawing her way out with burnt hands, or she could be dead, but _the snakes would have gotten him_. And if the Old Hag had somehow gotten out of the volcano in time to spirit him away from the snakes and into some hideout, he definitely wouldn’t be feeling better and better every time he woke up.

No, _he was somewhere faraway, somewhere safe._

 _…Bunny had gotten him out,_ Jack realized, and his eyes fluttered close at the memory of fur brushing against his neck, checking for a pulse; of the distant sensation of solid warmth amidst the vicious, burning haze he was lost in.

Tension began to leave his body, breaths gradually becoming easier and lighter.

Bunny had come again, and had transported him somewhere safe; to a nice place full of birds and insects and beautiful sunlight. Somewhere _bright_ and _warm_ –

…Crap, he _really_ was in Bunny’s tropical island again, wasn’t he?

Jack groaned. That fluffy moron! Could he not understand that Jack wanted to be somewhere _cold_ right now? Was that so hard to guess? First he put Jack face down so he could gaze at dirt infinitely, and now _this?_

But, well, he already knew Bun-bun wasn’t very smart; no one who disliked snow days could be a genius. As soon as he was back on his feet, Jack would turn Bunny into a snowman to return the favor. If he was still mummified from the Old Hag’s attack Jack would freeze the bandages solid and construct a four-story snowman on top of him.

Snickering and already feeling _miles_ better, Jack turned his head to the side; partly to stare at something other than dirt, and mainly to look for potential pranking material.

He saw a tree.

It was a nice tree. Well, it was not vibrantly green; its leaves had a dull silvery quality instead. It possessed a _wide_ canopy though, and everything around it seemed dipped in magnificent shade.

Jack gazed at it longingly. The air would be _so cool_ beneath that tree. What he’d give it to be under it right now…!

His fingers twitched, trying to close around a staff that wasn’t there.

He couldn’t do much else.

He kept staring at the tree, savoring the way the leaves fluttered in the wind, imagining lying below it, as the sunlight grew stronger. The air was getting progressively warmer, and Jack found he could not stand it. He retched once more, the motion tearing painfully at his injured stomach. He tried to sleep, but the spinning in his head overwhelmed him until he couldn’t discern his surroundings anymore.

He slipped in and out of consciousness as the heat became more and more suffocating, until at some point he found himself glaring at the tree through bleary, burning eyes. It was as if he was drowning in a furnace; he could hardly breathe from the smothering sensation around his neck. The boy had the indistinct memory of warm fur brushing against his skin sometime through the haze, but he didn’t feel particularly thankful for that at the moment.

The midday sun was setting back his recovery, Jack could tell that.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around for Bunny’s egg-sized brain to come to the obvious conclusion, though. He was going to get _himself_ to that tree.

He knew that the longer he waited the more difficult it would become. He had to act _now._

Jack took deep breaths, trying not to cough, as he contemplated getting himself there.

…He could do it. The tree was super close. Just a few steps away, for someone upright and walking.

Jack flexed fingers and toes until feeling started to return to them. He tested his limbs; the muscles quivered with the effort of moving, but Jack was relieved to see they could respond, however minutely. Okay, he could totally do this.

One last deep breath. Mentally steeling himself, Jack (also mentally) instructed his stomach to _behave,_ and his arms and legs to showcase their excellent upbringing, and promptly pushed with all his force against the ground to sit up.

He was interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek, and the next moment something darted away from his neck and fled towards a bush. Before Jack could recover, another previously unnoticed warm weight disappeared from between his knees; one more from his left armpit. He only had time to glimpse a small, furry silhouette before it disappeared in the foliage.

Jack stared, half-leaning on an elbow, unable to think, to see; then he realized:

They were small animals nestling in the crooks of his body; it was something that happened sometimes if he fell asleep in a very warm place: animals would burrow in the curves of his limbs, seeking relief from the heat. This was what had happened now.

Sure enough, his brain finally caught up with what his eyes had seen and informed him that what he had glimpsed fleeing from his neck was a _fox_ ; a weasel from his knees. Who-knows-what the one from his armpit was, but it must have been tiny. A squirrel, at most.

The boy raised his head to look around.

He was still on the foothills of that volcano. It towered above him, huge and menacing, large portions of the slope burnt black. Rivers of cold, solid grey lava coiled downwards, looking like abandoned snakeskins. His insides churned unpleasantly, breath hitching, when he noticed that one such snakeskin lay extremely close, just a dozen metres away. It passed by him without turning and went on downwards, as if it simply hadn’t noticed him. Everything around it was burnt, and _everything_ all over the place was covered by a thick layer of ash: the trees, the grass, the soil–

Jack dropped his gaze to see his hands and sleeves also coated in grey; the fallen cinders had blanketed him whole, the place where his head and limbs had been resting being the only clear ground.

He had never left the mountain.

Bunny had never come. It had only ever been small animals and nightmares.

* * *

Jack’s face was scrunching up with misery, and he didn’t know why.

He should be _happy_.

He had somehow, inexplicably, miraculously, survived the snakes’ rampage: that was no small thing. He shouldn’t be ungrateful; he was in fact very _lucky_.

And fuzzy little animals cuddling with him in his sleep was _adorable,_ and certainly one of the best perks of being super-cold all the time. He always got ecstatic whenever that happened!

So Jack could not explain the hollowness that ate into his chest, scraping his insides raw. He didn’t understand why he felt like lying down and giving up when he was so hyped about going underneath the tree moments before. He couldn’t tell why he suddenly felt ten times sicker than before. He didn’t know why breathing was so difficult all of a sudden.

This was stupid. He always got in all sorts of trouble, escaped alive and well and _happy_. This was no different. He should pull himself together and get up and to that tree _now._

Jack’s arms gave out and he fell back against the ground, a small cloud of ash rising up from the abrupt movement. He inevitably inhaled the grey dust and started coughing, the motion causing his stomach to throb with pain. Was it really hurting that much before? He hadn’t noticed…

He was probably just _really_ hurt, and that’s why he felt this lousy.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, attempting to steady his breathing, and clung to that line of thought.

_Yes, of course, that made sense. After all, it was stupid to expect Bu–_

_…It was stupid._

_And he certainly wasn’t going to get worked up about something stupid._

More steady breaths; he was getting the hang of this.

“Who else would have you?”

“ _No!_ ” Jack snarled at the memory, flinching violently. _That’s not how it works! It doesn’t matter!_

It was just a _stupid thought_ he had while he was delusional from the heat, anyway! He hadn’t even left any snow to mark his position, and without snow B–

Without snow he wouldn’t be found.

_So that was that._

It didn’t mean anything.

This idea would have never even crossed his mind if he had been thinking with a clear head.

Jack forced himself to take more deep breaths; he inevitably inhaled more ash, with led to coughs burning through his throat, his whole body shaking with the effort.

 _Okay_ , he thought tiredly after the coughing fit died down, trying to think past the desperate need for water. _Okay. He should… he should just quiet down for awhile. Stay calm; until he managed to sit up and lift his face off the ash, at least. Nothing bad had happened to him, after all. It was fine. It didn’t mean anything._

…What this whole adventure _did_ prove was that his healing ability was pretty great, actually, Jack thought to himself. He could tell that the midday heat had been taking a toll on him, reversing the healing achieved during the cool nights; yet the end result was _still_ a gradual recovery, despite the unfavorable environment.

_And that was that._

Jack opened his eyes slowly; it was again getting harder and harder to think. He had been startled wide awake by animals leaping off him but the adrenaline was leaving him once more.

He knew he should get himself in shade as soon as possible; then he would get well faster.

He blinked to focus on the ash-covered tree again.

… _What was he thinking._ It was _too far–_

There was _no way_ he could make it there–

_He couldn’t do it–_

Jack nearly sobbed because he could feel the sun sizzling his back and the tree was _so far away–_

Okay, okay, stay calm. He should… he should make it into a game. Yeah. Then it wouldn’t matter how long it’d take.

He could pretend he was trudging through snow instead. Grey, bitter snow; but it was certainly soft enough to fit the bill. He could pretend he was some kind of explorer heading for refuge in the burning cold, after the heroic discovery of a new land. And shelter was so, so close; he just had to reach it.

Jack pushed himself to his knees and elbows for a second time, ignoring the bone-deep ache in his limbs and the throbbing in his stomach, and thinking repeatedly that it was snow. It was just snow. You could build snowmen with it. If you lied on your back and waved your arms and legs about you’d make snow angels. It was just like snow. It was snow.

Jack found himself crawling to the tree, repeating over and over again that it. Was. Snow.

It was snow.

His sight began to blur; he could still see the tree rising up before him but it was bleary now, its canopy turned into a shapeless grey mass, wavering impossibly in front of his eyes, the blobs of light shining through it swimming in and out of focus.

It seemed just as far as before, but brave explorers didn’t give up. He stayed focused on it, and kept going.

Jack idly thought of his staff, of flying effortlessly through falling snow…

His gaze strayed off the tree to glide over the surrounding grey, searching for the familiar shape. He was faced with the whole world swimming sickeningly by the motion, the ground and the plants shifting and floating all around him. The more he looked, the more unstable he felt, the less he could comprehend what he saw.

Jack was overcome by the fear that when he’d turn his head to face forward again, he wouldn’t be able to find the shadow-draped tree any more. That he’d have lost it, and he’d be stuck between swimming, formless shapes, not knowing where to go.

He hurriedly turned to look for his tree, his heart beating painfully. He _thought_ he could discern it in front of him, but he couldn’t be entirely sure he was still going the right way.

…Ah, but explorers were well-known for their incredible sense of direction. So, he _couldn’t_ be lost.

The boy went on. It wasn’t like explorers had magical staffs, after all. Their feats would be a lot less admirable if they could just fly all over the place. He didn’t need it to reach shelter from the snow.

Yet the question of what had happened to his staff formed in the back of his mind. He didn’t know where it was. He didn’t know how he had survived the snakes. He didn’t know what had happened to it during their rampage.

The boy realized it might be burnt to ashes.

Somehow, the thought didn’t really distress him.

…Jack knew he should be horrified by the possibility, but he couldn’t find it in himself to react appropriately.

He was probably too out of it, that’s why.

He just had to focus on one thing at a time.

Then there was a moment when Jack abruptly struggled to raise his head and torso from the grey dust, his throat wrecked with burning coughs, mouth filled with ash. He didn’t remember lying down to rest.

He pushed himself on all fours again and resumed trudging forward. _Whew_ , sleeping in the snow was dangerous, he knew _that_. It was incredible that it had not claimed his life, Jack snickered to himself. He was an _awesome_ explorer, to be able to withstand that! _The very best–_

Jack suddenly found himself in a somewhat cooler place. The grey dust filling his palms felt colder. The sunlight not so bright. The air not quite so burning.

…He had made it.

The boy sighed and let himself drop to the side and roll on his back, a small cloud of cinders rising all around him. He closed his eyes and held his breath until it settled down again.

He didn’t know for how long he stayed like this, slowly breathing warm air in and out, trying to ignore the burning need for water; when he opened his eyes again there was still daylight, and his head felt a bit clearer. Being in shade had indeed helped.

A small smile formed on Jack’s face, which melted into a grimace when he tried to sit up. Previously unnoticed pains were coming to the surface, competing for his attention: his right shin _really_ hurt, and Jack suspected he had cracked the bone. It was the same for the left ankle and elbow, while his right shoulder might have been dislocated. His ribs also felt funny. …Aftereffects of the wild ride on his way out the tunnels.

Yet he could breathe, and was not spitting any blood, and at no point was any bone jutting out of the body, soo… it wasn’t that bad actually.

Really, his level of explorer hardiness was off the charts.

The boy considered trying to sit up again and search for his staff. Should he try it now? He’d probably need to get in the sun again for that and he really didn’t feel like he was up for it.

Should he wait until nightfall instead…? However, in the off chance that the staff wasn’t burnt but simply buried in the ash, he’d never manage to find it in the dark. Wait until morning then?

Jack considered his options.

He wasn’t in any particular hurry to find it right _now_ : the snakes’ attack was clearly over, and if the Old Hag had survived unscathed… Jack had the feeling she would have gotten out and attacked him already. He was probably safe–

The boy was wrecked by an overwhelming wave of nausea at the memory of the small village by the shore and _of the grey snakeskin heading down the slope._

The wrenching feeling in his gut peaked, and Jack almost _gasped_ with the need to go check the village _right away_ – but he couldn’t. Just couldn’t. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t even turn to look towards that direction. Couldn’t deal with this. Didn’t want to see what he’d find. These people hadn’t done anything wrong and they had paid for his carelessness.

Jack buried his face in his hands. Why had _he_ survived, anyway?! It wasn’t fair! He was all by himself, defenseless and barely conscious during the snakes’ attack outside the mountain.

Actually, scratch that, he was completely unconscious during their attack; his earliest memory from when he was lost in the nightmare-filled haze was of the fluffy animals approaching him, and _no way_ did they do that during a volcano eruption: they would have gone into hiding. So, he had begun coming to _after_ the attack was over.

The last clear memory he had before that was of flying towards the snakes when they erupted from the mountain; then the world went dark–

 _…That was how he survived_ , Jack realized hollowly. He had passed out: he must have dropped the staff and fell from the sky; landed somewhere away from it.

He had already been overheated by then; he wouldn’t stand out much from his surroundings.

The snakes couldn’t find him.

They headed for the sea instead.

Jack tried to drown a sob into his palms.

Why should _he_ survive? Why couldn’t he manage to hold onto his staff?! Everything would be okay then!

Maybe– maybe there was still something he could do for that village. Maybe. Not undo all that was done to it, obviously, but… maybe there were still lingering fires that needed to be put out. Or maybe there was ash that needed to be cleared out by the wind. Or things needing to be cooled down.

He had to find his staff; if it was still intact.

Jack tried to sit up a second time, this once successfully. His vision was a lot better now: he could discern the things around him properly —he could see the marks he had left as he had crawled through the ash, the indentation in the shape of his body from where he had been laying in the thick dust. No large, kangaroo-sized footsteps were around, and Jack pointedly ignored the ache in his chest.

… _That_ was his crashing spot. The staff had to have fallen somewhere close.

He looked around, searching the uniform blanket of grey for any clue for the whereabouts of his staff.

His tired eyes spotted a group of small birds hurdling next to each other, forming a line on the ground. They fluttered occasionally and bumped into each other, but remained strangely on line.

The boy slowly pushed himself to his feet, his hurt shin and ankle protesting at the treatment. Jack bit his lip when the bare soles of his feet pressed against the dusty ground; they stung with pain. They must have gotten burnt inside the tunnels, along with his back and probably every inch of skin that came in contact with the burning stone. Jack found himself wavering in place; it was hard to remain upright, and if it weren’t for the endless years of perfecting his balancing skills he would already have face-planted into the ash.

He didn’t feel like he was strong enough to withstand another slow crawl in the sun, though. Walking would be harder but much more preferable.

Jack stepped out into the burning light again and stumbled towards the birds, flinching each time his feet touched the ground, focusing only on the small animals, getting closer, closer–

The birds sprang into flight and disappeared in the burning light. Jack dropped to his knees and reached with his good arm to search through the ashes.

Dust filled his palm; he could feel rocks and crushed leaves–

Then his fingers touched wood and an instant wave of blessed cold jostled through him.

Jack closed his hand around the familiar object, the refreshing coolness washing through him, and he should _really_ feel relief, but the only thing he could think of was the village and the fires it had to face. Why should _he_ get to feel coolness?

The frost spirit called for the wind, but it became immediately obvious that he was in no state to make the flight to the village. He only managed to create the faintest whisper of a breeze; it lifted him gently and deposited him in the shadow of another tree.

“Alright,” Jack breathed as he shifted so he could lean against the trunk, the staff laying idle in weak fingers. “Let’s just… wait here for a while. Until I heal a little bit.”

The injured bones were not magical injuries; they were of the boring hit-against-a-wall-variety. They would be much better very soon, and lying in shade with the staff in his hands would really help.

On the other hand, his burnt back didn’t appreciate being pressed against the rough trunk, but Jack didn’t care. That, too, would heal in time. He didn’t need to do anything about it. Plus he didn’t really want to look.

Same as he didn’t want to look beneath the bandage on his right arm or, more importantly, beneath the shirt covering his stomach, where the Old Hag had–

Jack made sure to stare pointedly at the canopy overhead. It was a nice canopy, despite the ash-coloured leaves.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he could see from the corner of his eye that the whole shirt in front of his stomach was a dull brown from congealed blood.

The frost spirit closed his eyes firmly instead, and once again realized that they felt _really_ warm. Feverishly warm. Unbearably warm.

Jack frowned and conjured some snow —relieved that it was still possible in his current condition— and pressed it against his eyes.

He couldn’t help it; despite the misery that gnawed inside him, the boy could only sigh in bliss at the soothing sensation.

* * *

It wasn’t long before the snow melted in the warm midday air, but now that he got a taste of coldness, Jack found he could not stop. He _needed it._

He tried to create a whole blanket of snow all around him; yet the heat was too intense, and the effort proved too much for him. It left him oddly drained and the surrounding ash replaced by grey mud.

The frost spirit resorted to making a mouthful of snow instead and promptly gulped it down, savoring the cool sensation going down his throat.

He liked it a lot less when he vomited it back out two minutes later.

Unwilling to give up he tried again, only this time by simply holding the snow in his mouth and letting it melt slowly, blissfully.

This was much better. Jack couldn’t hold back a humorless chuckle at the thought of snow being colder than him. It was surreal. He was really messed up.

He repeated the process a few times, and was satisfied to see he was able to stomach it down.

A movement caught in the corner of his eye made Jack turn, and he saw the fox from earlier edging closer, clearly wary.

The animal came very close and paused with one paw still in the air, staring vaguely to his direction. It wouldn't be able to discern him properly, Jack knew, but it could definitely smell him and sense that something _colder_ was here. It couldn't tell exactly _what_ though, and after he had disturbed it with his sudden commotion, it was reluctant to get any closer again.

Which was just as well because the animals had been warming him up and that had _not_ helped.

The fox continued to stare at him, one paw hanging in the air.

"...Oh, come here," Jack sighed softly and leaned to pick it up with both hands.

The animal froze when it felt a strange entity lift it up into the air but didn't struggle, and it settled down just as soon as Jack placed it on his lap. The extra warmth felt instantly unpleasant, but Jack didn't care. He put one arm loosely around the warm weight to keep it better cool, and the fox closed its eyes for a nap.

It was just as adorable as Jack remembered these things to always be.

He ran his fingers through the fine, soft hair a couple of times before he let his hand rest on the ground and closed his eyes as well.

Soon, the warm weight became outright nauseating, and a nasty headache pierced its way into his skull. His breathing turned shallower.

He passed out not long after that.

The animal was disturbed some time later anyway, when he leaned to the side and vomited all the melted snow out. It scampered away and didn’t come back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heatstroke is nasty business. The only cure is getting cooled down and staying hydrated.
> 
> Many kudos to all the readers who commented on expecting/hoping for Bunny or another guardian to come help Jack! At first I was troubled because that was not what I was going for in the plot (which means I gave wrong impressions as a writer), but then I thought "Heyyyy what if I make Jack also think that someone has come to help him? That could work!"  
> So, this chapter would have been very different without your input! Thank you for that!! :D


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